Quotes About Sensory

Un petit nuage rose descendait de l'air et s'approchait d'eux. "J'y vais! proposa-t-il. -vas-y", dit Colin. Et le nuage les enveloppa. A l'intérieur, il faisait chaud et ça sentait le sucre à la cannelle.

Roll gently onto your back for me, and know my teeth are made of feathers.

Times Square is an assault on every sense, and somehow that includes not only scent but taste. Everything is in motion and swirling and you want to give the entire square a giant Adderall. There

Hermetic angelology, studied by Corbin in his Avicenna and the Visionary Recital, posits a middle reality between sensory perceptions and divine revelations.

There was nowhere to go, but I turned to go and met Atticus's vest front. I buried my head in it and listened to the small internal noises that went on behind the light blue cloth: his watch ticking, the faint crackle of his starched shirt, the soft sound of his breathing. 'Your stomach's growling,' I said. 'I know it,' he said.

No, I mean I can smell somebody an' tell if they're gonna die. An old lady taught me how. Jean--Louise--Finch, you are going to die in three days.

Ladies bathed before noon, after their three o-clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft tea-cakes with frosting of sweat and sweet talcolm.

They say when you can't stand it your body is its own defense, you black out and you don't feel anymore.

Ladies bathed before noon, after their three o'clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft tea-cakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcolm.

Ladies bathed before noon, after their three-o'clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.

Music brings a warm glow to my vision, thawing mind and muscle from their endless wintering.

Even so, there were times I saw freshness and beauty. I could smell the air, and I really loved rock 'n' roll. Tears were warm, and girls were beautiful, like dreams. I liked movie theaters, the darkness and intimacy, and I liked the deep, sad summer nights.

With my eyes closed, I would touch a familiar book and draw its fragrance deep inside me. This was enough to make me happy.

The pillow smells like the sunlight, a precious smell.

The heavy smell of flower petals stroked the walls of my lungs.

Her partially open lips now opened wide, and her soft, fragrant tongue entered his mouth, where it began a relentless search for unformed words, for a secret code engraved there. Tengo's own tongue responded unconsciously to this movement and soon their tongues were like two young snakes in a spring meadow, newly wakened from their hibernation and hungrily intertwining, each led on by the other's scent.

The tomatoes and string beans were but chilled shadows. Tasteless shadows. Nor was there any taste to the coffee or crackers. Maybe because of the morning sun? The light of morning decomposes everything.

How you think and feel's always linked to the lie of the land, the temperature. The prevailing winds, even. p.498

I don't want to forget the last time you touched me.

Todo un libro tras otro, los abro: la mayoría conserva entre sus páginas el olor de épocas pretéritas. Un aroma muy especial a conocimientos profundos y a emociones desatadas que, entre cubierta y cubierta, llevan mucho tiempo sumidos en un apacible sueño. Aspiro el aroma, hojeo algunas páginas y devuelvo los libros a la estantería.

I hear things. Not sounds, but thick slabs of silence being dragged through the dark.

We grown-up people think that we appreciate music, but if we realized the sense that an infant has brought with it of appreciating sound and rhythm, we would never boast of knowing music. The infant is music itself.

He was and probably still is, to this day, the worst-smelling person I have ever hugged. But it was wonderful. He just wrapped his arms all the way around me. He hugged me the way that parents hug: with them doing all the work.

Love is like a beautiful flower which I may not touch, but whose fragrance makes the garden a place of delight just the same.