Quotes About Sensory

Even if I were half dead, drugged to the gills, deaf, dumb, and blind, I would know you were here. How can you expect me to rest when you arouse such madness in me?

He was in love with aspects of her. Andre wasn't capable of expressing himself like other people. He dreamt in smells, he heard music in colours.

The crickets were rubbing their hind legs together, unrolling that endless band of sound that when combined with the sound of the sycamore trees losing their heads in the heat-thickened breeze could cause even a girl as unsentimental as Mary to feel like she'd just left something behind on the porch stoop she couldn't bear to live without.

Vowels thicker than caramel on a Granny Smith.

A shelf to the left of the cash register held bottles of red wine. My weapon of choice. As I looked at them, for the thousandth time I felt the craving. I remembered the taste, the smell, the dry, tangy feel of the wine on my tongue. I remembered the warmth that would start in my gut and spread upward and outward, navigating a path through my body, lighting the fires of well-being along its course.

Barely spring, yet the unseasonable Florida humidity made me feel like I'd disembarked from my flight into a Rottweiler's mouth.

fences, walls, and billboards. I didn't try to read them. I couldn't. My head spun as it had in my drinking

the smell of Satan rose up out of the bag and surrounded my soul.

He flung self-control to the unseen winds of the Force and reached down deep to fully sense her presence. Layers and layers: the living depth of Endor's teeming forest, the all-enveloping warmth of a night on sandy Tatooine, and the hypnotic glitter of deep space came to mind.…

My intention has been, often, to say what I had to say in a way that would exemplify it; that would, conceivably, permit the listener to experience what I had to say rather than just hear about it. —John Cage

tastes, memory, and emotions have to be weakened;

October proved a riot a riot to the senses and climaxed those giddy last weeks before Halloween.

A gut-string classical Spanish guitar, a sweet, lovely little lady. The smell of it. Even now, to open a guitar case, when it's an old wooden guitar, I could crawl in and close the lid.

To wake, and sleep, and know that one is loved; to hear, as I hear now, the whisper of a footfall; to feel the touch of hands; these things, above all else, are to be desired. I count myself fortunate, in that, for a little while, I have known them.

but my stomach rebelled anew at the sight of the separated chicken leg on my plate, the white knob of bone glistening through the cooked tendons. It didn't look like food. It looked like a piece of a dismembered corpse. Eating it, I knew, was a practical impossibility.

Jake's hair smelled like iced tea with honey in it, after all the ice has melted.

Communication is not only about words and numbers. Some thoughts can't be properly expressed in these ways at all. We also think in sounds and images, in movement and gesture, which gives rise to our capacities for music, visual arts, dance, and theater in all their variations.

We are all born with extraordinary powers of imagination, intelligence, feeling, intuition, spirituality, and of physical and sensory awareness. (p.9)

No one has written adequately of what happens when enough of the body's naked surface is pressed against another human being's. It is a slow dismantling of ego, a suspension of the instinct to distinguish Me from Not Me.

Your body spreads across my brain Like a bird filled summer; Not like a body, not like a separate thing, But like a nimbus that hovers Over every other thing in all the world. from "When We with Sappho,

For run as fast as ever I may, My heart Moves only with you, Only with your blossoms, Remembering them Or awaiting them, Moving when you move in the wind And still when you are still.

River cottonwoods were so drunk with color the leaves hurt his eyes.

tasted of stale beer and tobacco.

Cassie paused at the door. She could smell cigarette smoke and hear the click of pool balls. She almost turned around and walked back to her Honda. Instead, she steeled herself and pulled the door open, to be greeted by a sensory rush of smoke, stale beer, and Lynyrd Skynyrd from the jukebox.