Quotes About Sensory

taking a small piece of the Parmesan that I have broken into craggy shards on the small wooden board I've laid out, with a wedge of triple-crème Délice de Bourgogne Brie, some nuts and dried fruits, a homemade quince and plum membrillo paste, and some tiny little German wild boar sausages that I've been hoarding since my trip to Berlin last year.

I pick up my teaspoon and take a small bite, and am transported. The cake is nutty and moist, the cream with the barest hint of rum, the dark chocolate ganache smooth and silky with just enough bitterness, the apricot bringing that perfect amount of tart brightness, cutting through the rich flavors, and making the whole thing sing in the mouth. It is perfectly balanced and absolutely amazing, and I'm mentally making notes to see if I can replicate it.

Wyje?d?am, skr?cam na Orlen, ?eby wzi?? podwójne espresso w kartonowym kubku. Pij? ?apczywie i prawie si? parz?, bo chc? w tym najciemniejszym dniu ?wiata mie? jasny umys?. ?eby to wszystko, co widz? i s?ysz?, wchodzi?o g??biej. ?eby przeszywa?o na wylot. Poniewa? nic innego nie mo?emy zrobi?.

On the whole, art should not be explained; it must be experienced.

Lorsque j'ouvrais les yeux dans l'obscurité et que je te sentais contre mon flanc, je m'étonnais qu'il n'y eût pas d'étoiles au-dessus de moi, tant le ciel semblait présent.

Het ligt niet in de menselijke aard alleen op herinneringen te teren, en zoals planten en welk schepsel dan ook voedsel uit de aarde en steeds nieuw gefilterd licht uit de hemel nodig hebben, zodat hun kleuren niet verbleken en de bloemkelken niet verwelkt hun bladeren verliezen, zo hebben ook dromen, ook dromen die schijnbaar niet van deze aarde zijn, voedsel nodig van het zinnelijke, ondersteund door tederheid en beelden, anders stolt hun bloed en de intensiteit van hun licht verbleekt.

Vücudu dalgalara b?rakmadan önce ayak uçlar?n? yoklayarak suya deÄŸdirirken duyulan o h???rt?l? soÄŸukluÄŸun sinirli ürpertisini duymuÅŸtu.

Como animales, calientes y ávidos, caían uno sobre otro cuando se encontrban en un pasillo oscuro, detrás de una puerta, en un rincón, entre dos minutos robados; la mano quería sentir a la mano, el labio al labio, la sangre inquieta sentir a su hermana, todo buscaba febrilmente a todo, cada nervio ardía por gozar la sensualidad de un pie, de una mano, de un vestido, de cualquier parte viva de sus cuerpos anhelantes.

I think the deafness affects me more than I realise I think it makes me more tired. I loathe parties. I attend, smile and leave.

For real human beings, the only realism is an embodied realism.

There is in the blind as in the seeing an Absolute which gives truth to what we know to be true, order to what is orderly, beauty to the beautiful, touchableness to what is tangible.

In truth man is made rather to eat ices than to pore over old texts.

You cannot capture warmth in a toast, but you can capture toast in a warmth.

Some things that are invisible and untouchable can nevertheless be seen and felt.

She puts a hand to his mouth. She has not touched him in three years. It probably would be too much to say that he feels the darkness lift at the touch of her fingertips against his lips. But it shivers, and light bleeds in among the cracks.

he stank more than any human joe had ever smelled, as if he had been dipped in some ungodly confection of camembert and rancid gasoline brewed up in a spit-filled cuspidor.

She gave him her hand then, and he took it in his own. For an instant, his felt much drier and more callused than she remembered, and then it felt exactly the same.

He felt the shock of contact. The weight of her against his chest felt like something she had decided to entrust to him. He

They fell asleep holding each other and were wakened by a smell, comforting and maternal, of boiled milk and salt water.

It was the very color of the way my grandmother smelled; the color of the warmth of her lap and enfolding arms; the color of her husky voice resounding in her rib cage when she pulled me close.

I wanted to be a writer, that's all. I wanted to write about it all. Everything that happens in a moment. The way the flowers looked when you carried them in your arms. This towel, how it smells, how it feels, this thread. All our feelings, yours and mine. The history of it, who we once were. Everything in the world. Everything all mixed up, like it's all mixed up now.

Chemically speaking, chocolate really is the world's perfect food.

The furniture was white and the carpet red – it looked like the inside of someone's mouth. Three

She loves most the wet colours of his neck when he bathes. And his chest with with its sweat which her fingers grip when he is over her, and the dark, tough arms in the darkness of his tent, or one time in her room when light from the valley's city, finally free of curfew, rose among them like twilight and lit the colour of his body.