Quotes About Sensory

Learning to read music in Braille & play by ear helped me develop a [very] good memory.

She thought in pictures and feelings, not words.

Hoewel we de illusie hebben dat we beelden met hoge resolutie ontvangen van onze ogen, stuurt de oogzenuw slechts contouren en aanwijzingen over interessante punten in ons blikveld naar het brein. We 'hallucineren' eigenlijk de wereld vanuit ons corticale geheugen.

Even though we think we see the world so fully, what we are receiving is really just hints

saying these words is like speaking avocodo. warm, ripe juicy mango.

For me, candlelit is the only way to have a dinner. There are always candles at my table. And I like to have Luis Miguel playing in the background.

I think that to capture food in music, you really are capturing an emotional response to food.

I love my massages super strong and my chocolate super dark.

I love entering the bowels of the cinema and immersing myself in another world.

The limits of sensory evolution in fish are defined very largely by their habitat. Water is physically supportive, carries some kinds of odour well, and is kind to sound - letting it travel several times faster than air will allow, but it inhibits other more personal kinds of communication.

I think the core criterion is the social awkwardness, but the sensory issues are a serious problem in many, many cases of autism, and they make it impossible to operate in the environment where you're supposed to be social.

It must be born in mind that one does not see directly - as is the case in the exploration of the surface of the brain - where the electrodes are attacking.

I would not be at all surprised to find out... that the dimensions of buildings affect us in ways we don't guess.

He snorted and hit me in the solar plexus. I bent over and took hold of the room with both hands and spun it. When I had it nicely spinning I gave it a full swing and hit myself on the back of the head with the floor.

She smelled the way the Taj Mahal looks by moonlight.

Her voice froze on the second word, like a feather taking off in a sudden draft. Then it cooed and hovered and soared and eddied and the silent invitation of a smile picked delicately at the corners of her lips, very slowly, like a child trying to pick up a snowflake.

She came back with the glass and her fingers, cold from holding the glass, touched mine, and I held them for a moment and then let them go slowly, as you let go of a dream when you wake with the sun in your face and you have been in an enchanted valley

I was in the deep water. It was dark and unclear and the taste of the salt was in my mouth.

I used to like mine with champagne. The champagne as cold as Valley Forge and about a third of a glass of brandy beneath it.

The air was thick, wet, steamy and larded with the cloying smell of tropical orchids in bloom.

and the rain blew in under the porch, not as cold as her lips.

I puffed at the cigarette. It was one of those things with filters in them. It tasted like a high fog strained through cotton wool.

He came over and held out his hand. I shook it. It was as clammy as a dead fish. Clammy hands and the people who own them make me sick.

He had a sort of dry musty smell, like a fairly clean Chinaman.