Quotes About Sensory

Everyone has foods that take them on mental journeys.

The key to my collections is sensuality.

When we put music on, he kind of kicks in the belly, and it's cool to see how he's not even born yet, but he's already responding to the music. When I talk to him, he kicks as well. It's a very deep connection that I have with my son already and he's not even born. So I'm loving it.

My attitude is always one of sensuality, aggressive enthusiasm and a kind of outrageousness in my expression.

Why watch someone kissing when people really close their eyes when they kiss?

I don't like facial hair, and I don't like kissing facial hair, as you cant find the lips.

I turned over, and those big hands got to work on my back. I stifled a whimper in the pillow, because Marco's idea of a massage bore no resemblance whatsoever to the relaxing spa variety. There was no lavender oil, no soothing music, no hot towels. Just an all-out assault on cramped muscles, until they cowered in surrender and turned to Jell-O.

What will I taste like?" I asked. He inhaled deeply at the base of my throat. "Sweet and pure," he answered, "like white lilacs.

There's volumes to be said for a wine that takes you three glasses to decide whether you find it compelling or repellent." — EVAN AND BRIAN MITCHELL The Psychology of Wine

Holy water at my wrists and behind my ears; my version of Eau de Don'tbiteme

Driving a hot car is a lot like sex to me, or a lot like I keep thinking sex should be: A total body experience, overwhelming, to all the senses, taking you places you've never been, packing a punch that leaves you breathless and touches your soul. The Viper was way more satisfying then my last boyfriend.

I can smell you, Ms. Lane," he said, even more softly. "The only blood on you is from your veins, not your womb." My head whipped to the left and I stared at him. Ok, that was one of the more disturbing things he'd ever said to me.

I was in Cancun, Mexico, sitting in a disappearing-edge swimming pool, on a bar stool that was actually under the water, watching palm trees sway in a sultry breeze against the unmistakable aqua splendor of the Caribbean Sea; drinking coconut, lime, and tequila from a scooped-out pineapple, with salt spray of breaking surf and sun kissing my skin. Translation: I'd died and gone to heaven.

Love is funny. Even though you don't have that person anymore, you still have the feeling. You didn't lose your LOVE. You lost the tangible, tactile, sense-sational ability to experience the person or animal you lost.

And I will get to climb on that big beautiful bike of yours and wrap my arms around you and lean into all that gorgeous hair and smell you, and hear you laugh and see your eyes flash fire. Or I may as well just kick it right now because you, Dani Mega O'Malley, make me feel alive like nothing else does.

Love is funny. Even though you don't have that person anymore, you still have the feeling. You didn't lose your love. You lost the tangible, tactile, sense-sational ability to experience the person or animal you lost. Grief is all about not being able to touch anymore. Not being able to use your senses to experience them on a physical level. They've moved beyond an impenetrable veil, beyond your hands and mouth and eyes.

I burn everywhere and I'm hot, and I'm hot, and I'm so fecking unbelievably hot that I start tearing off my clothes and I can't do it fast enough because I feel thick and slow and stupid

She straddles me, ass to my face, reverse cowgirl, tangled hair swinging. And son of a bitch, the woman can ride.

He slurped unashamed like a cow in a lake, as though her quim were the most ambrosial trough of sauterne imaginable. Was this some strange Indian thing? It was unbelievably shameful yet arousing to have his beautiful pointed nose buried in her sex, lapping away like a mountain cat.

Until she'd known him she'd never experienced sorcery. Never known what it was like to feel passion. For the sheer blinding alchemy of that she would be forever grateful. But being with him was oddly more. It was the taste of an orange, the smell of a rose, the touch of the first spring raindrop expanded and multiplied and folded over itself. The meaning, perhaps, of joy.

Madness, as I understood it from books, meant a person who was open to the high white whine of everything.

Now her body was the only place where the memories were preserved.

Hur kan jag säga om din röst är vacker. Jag vet ju bara, att den genomtränger mig och kommer mig att darra som ett löv och trasar sönder mig och spränger mig.

Music gives color to the air of the moment.