Quotes About Sensory

A corrupt sweetness lined the back of his throat, a taste of nightmare.

The air smelled exotically of old incense and Shan's skin prickled as if emanations from past conjourings still crackled in the folds of the universe.

The panaroma of life revolved about him in a swirl of color and feeling.

Her gaze travelled down his chest to the dark coins of his nipples, which seemed to call for a halo of lips to encircle them, for eager teeth to bite them.

Ays shrugged and threw back his head to lower the hela frond into his open mouth. It tasted yeasty and salty upon his tongue and swiftly extended tender fingers of manipulation into his mind.

Behind my closed eyelids, the world was red and black, shot with flames and blood.

He opened his eyes, and the sight of the crystal city, in all its splendour, came at his sensitive pupils like a hail of spears.

Melandra felt the moist heat of the woman's sweet, spicy breath upon her lips. Her whole body tingled as if it was being stroked by loving hands. Melandra closed her eyes. Her lips met those of the nameless woman and for a timeless, endless moment, they kissed like lovers.

She had no thoughts, no opinions, and had become a ringing nerve of pure sensation.

When they hit the surface, Ays had to remind himself consciously to breathe. He opened his eyes and they became filled with lights and colors. For a while, he was unable to recognise shapes with them.

Both of their leaned down, and I felt as if my flesh was alight with their radiance.

This country should be enjoyed through the senses.

This country; you can feel the magic, can't you?" He inhaled slowly. "Smell it.

I felt heady in the swirl of colour, skirts of deep red, emerald green, peacock blue, the glint of yellow metal. Quick hands brushed our faces, and a blur of white-toothed smiles flashed around us. I couldn't help laughing aloud, batting these flapping creatures away from me. They were like soulscape harpies in plumage of white silk, who might carry us off to a final and exquisite devouring.

Poetry is its own medium it's very different than writing prose. Poetry can talk in an imagistic sense, it has particular ways of catching an environment.

Music has been called 'the most noise conveying the least information

He wrapped his lips around her finger and sucked hard as he slowly pulled the digit free, and that secret entrance deep between her thighs clenched like the mouth of a drawstring purse.

I am definitely of the method-acting school. Everything to me is about sound. I don't dress up in period costumes or anything like that. I'm very aural. When I'm working, I try to soak up the sounds of an era.

It's very nice to hear something very soft to your ear when you have something very hard to your eyes.

I love everything soft, cashmere and down. I don't like anything scratchy.

My earliest memory is feeling soil between my fingers when I was around three years old.

I have almost never written about my experience as a soldier on the battlefield, because I tried, and I found that it is beyond my capacity to describe the battlefield. The battlefield consists mostly of smells, and it is very difficult to describe smells in words - very difficult indeed.

One of my great frustrations for 35 years at the paper was the fact I couldn't play a record for the reader when I was writing about an artist. How can you describe the beauty of Emmylou Harris' voice without hearing it, the sensual lilt of a Duane Allman guitar solo without actually hearing it, or the growl of Johnny Rotten without hearing it?

I know that some people use lavender, incense, and cake as sedatives, but for me, a 'nose bath' in an old book just does something.