Quotes About Sensory

I actually think the deafness makes you see clearer. If you can't hear, you somehow see.

...every vertebrae on his back was a prayer bead under my hands.

She closed her eyes, and I closed mine, and even though we weren't holding hands, it felt like we were.Because what we had, we knew.

I fit my mouth to his and he tastes like water and smells like fresh air. I drag my hand from his neck to the small of his back and put it under his shirt. He kisses me harder.

When he touches me, the sky and the earth switch places.

Poetry is jealous of you tonight, for as soon as I come to pen a few words, your perfume attacks me in the most civilised manner and I forget myself. I forget the poem. I forget the ...

I feel your words on my lipsand feel your mood in my hips

The first stab of love is like a sunset, a blaze of color -- oranges, pearly pinks, vibrant purples...

The world is made out of Nutella. You just need to stick your tongue out, so that you could really taste it.

I know that touching you will be understanding my fingers for the first time.

I smell him in intervals, in varieties, in ways I don't quite understand.

They call it poetry, what she feels with her mouth closed. By his.

I could still taste her kiss on my lips as I walked along a deserted Chalk Farm Road at sunrise.

I know your eyes in the morning sunI feel you touch me in the pouring rainAnd the moment that you wander far from meI wanna feel you in my arms again

The Hands create, what the Heart feels!

I do not want to eat or drink, or i will lose the taste of you in my mouth

You have only to see what you see and feel what you feel.

Before newborns open their eyes, we circle them, appearing as brilliant colors, and when they clench their tiny hands for the first time, they are actually grabbing the colors they find most appealing.

Animals not only make music, they hear it in unique fashion.

I split my adolescence between the pulpy smell of books, which was my mother's passion, and the leathery smell of baseball gloves, which was my father's.

He still smelled of limes. It made saliva come into her mouth. It made her feel that before she had been sleepy, and now she was awake.

I close my eyes, a useless flutter. I open them, and I see you half a world away. I hear fever parting your lips. I feel your shivering, colorless geckos running down your spine. I smell the night sweat that has bathed you clean.

I drew out the Ham, lingered on the me, and softened the clip of the rick. I repeated the word, and with every slow joining of its three syllables, the fizzy taste of sweet licorice with a mild chaser of wood smoke flooded my mouth. A phantom swig of Dr. Pepper.

When I heard or said the word Kelly, I tasted canned peaches, delicious and candy-sweet. This, however, was the first time I had ever heard anyone say Powell. The word was a raw onion, a playground bully with sharp elbows shoving all flavors aside. Luckily for our friendship, little girls didn't often call each other by their full names.