Quotes About Sensory

Model. Two mobile eyes in a mobile head, itself on a mobile body.

Cryptochrome harnesses the energy of incoming blue light, but other molecules are probably needed to absorb light of other colors.

Monkeys don't enjoy or appreciate flavours. Experts have told us that human beings are the only beings that can appreciate food at this higher level and the only living beings that cook.

As soon as I hear a sound, it always suggests a mood to me.

When you're trying to create imagery, you're trying to create a feeling or a mood.

With art, your motor sense should be developed at full capacity.

Sometimes I would open my eyes when we were kissing, I would watch him and I could see it. I could actually see LOVE - not words, not an emotion, not an abstract concept or a subjective state of mind, but a living, breathing thing.

Red and green and silver flares, all colors, and the rain came down in Technicolor.

My memories begin in a fragrant California backyard, when I was two years old. The yard remains, infinitely smaller than it once seemed but still heady with eucalyptus oil and sudden gusts of ocean air, just as it was in 1956.

And if the air is chilly she feels it - in fact, if you put your hand on her arm you would know she still remembers how touching changed the weather, how a hand skimming the wrist was once a window opening onto a better season where people did better things than be lonely, where the wind was a river of candlelight pushing the blue silhouettes of trees.

so she stays there remembering the warmth of honey between her toes, with her blood not humming, with the sound of the name almost always coming to her.

A certain degree of audiovisual hallucination happens when we read poetry.

I think that this music could liquefy my internal organs, make my ears bleed (this has actually occurred), send me into seizures. Perhaps it could kill me. To be killed by intensed beauty, what a Keatsian way to die.

Beauty is nonconceptual. Nothing in the object directly explains it.

Eating a raw oyster is like french kissing a mermaid.

Your petal from the salty rose

The odor of frying bacon, sausage links, and ham tiptoed on little pig feet all the way to the north end of the second floor. Inevitably, the odor made her simultaneously ravenous and nauseated. She hated the sensation. It reminded her of pregnancy. Every Sunday morning, Leigh-Cheri awoke to a pan of fried fear.

Can I drink more than one mai tai without taking on the aroma of an aroused butterly?

the Impressionists were able to lead the viewer into mixing color in his or her own eye.

Ice cubes clink against the swizzle stick of your spinal column, and you start to wonder if this would not be the ideal moment to go home, take a hot shower, and curl up with a glass of chardonnay in front of a friendly computer.

The trip left the girl gaga, goofy, tainted, transformed, her nose a busted hymen through which sperm of a thousand colors swam a hootchy-kootchy stroke into her cerebral lagoon.

I love hot hand of explosion. I love a breeze perfumed with the devil smell of powder.

How is a juggler you can't hear or see or smell or touch different to no juggler at all?

I have only to break into the tightness of a strawberry, and I see summer – its dust and lowering skies.