Quotes About Sensory

Talent is an amalgam of high sensitivity; easy vulnerability; high sensory equipment (seeing, hearing, touching, smelling, tasting—intensely); a vivid imagination as well as a grip on reality; the desire to communicate one's own experience and sensations, to make one's self heard and seen. Talent alone is not enough. Character and ethics, a point of view about the world in which you live and an education, can and must be acquired and developed.

What I will always remember about Havana is the light...All I can see is the blinding light of Havana. It's burned into my retina. It still hurts my eyes.

It is the first time I am in a church and I don't like it. It is as though they are making me eat beef and pork. The flowers and the brass and the old smell and the body on the cross make me think of the dead. The funny taste is in my mouth, my old nausea, and I feel I would vomit if I swallow.

She was touching his body with her tongue, and he felt it there, but somehow what she was doing went deeper. As if that gentle, moist tongue of hers were flicking his heart as well.

Leni was pretty sure that, to her, childhood would always smell like sea air and cigarette smoke and her mother's rose-scented perfume.

Sometime—she didn't know when—she closed her eyes and reached out, placing a hand in the hollow of his stomach, feeling it rise and fall with his breathing. It was like resting her hand on the ocean in summer, when the tide was coming in.

It had been the first kiss for both of them, and to this day, when Dean kissed a woman, he longed for the smell of the sea.

Elsa thought of all the laundry she'd done in her life, the joy she'd always taken in hanging sheets to dry, but never until now had she fully, deeply appreciated the sheer physical pleasure of clean sheets on naked skin. The fresh smell of lavender soap in her hair.

The street was a living, breathing dragon of humanity, inching forward, wheezing dirt, honking horns; people yelling for help, babies crying, and the smell of sweat heavy in the air.

I close my eyes and in the darkness that smells of mildew and bygone lives, my mind casts back, a line thrown across years and continents.

I'm not well read, but when I do read, I read well. I don't have the time to translate what I understand in the form of conversation. I had exhausted most conversation at age 9. I only feel with grunts, screams and tones and with hand gestures and my body. I'm deaf in spirit.

The Spot is more like an erotic, interactive concert with extremely talented dancers rather than a simple strip joint.

C'mon on down to the Whiff and Spit; snuff it up and cough it out," Lewis chanted, giving it a catchy rhythem.

Damon: Is it working? Being in her world? Does it make you feel alive?

He was the smell of winter rain and the sound of his predator's heartbeat

Warmth. Well-being. And a taste not like copper, but like something rich and strange. Later, she'd always grope for ways to describe it, but she could only think of things like: well a little bit like the way vanilla bean smells, and a little bit like the way silk feels, and a little bit like the way a waterfall looks.

He was right. It made no sense at all, but the feeling flooded through Karou, and whatever it was, it was as sweet as a patch of sun on a glossy floor and, like a cat, she just wanted to curl up in it.

Around Mik, my powers desert me. I lose basic motor function, like my brain focuses all neural activity on my lips and shifts into kiss preparedness mode way too early, to the detriment of things like speech, and walking.

A pause came between them, and it was so full of Akiva that Karou imagined she could smell him.

The eye's perception of texture is pale compared to the lips', and I didn't know what velvety was until I knew it with my lips. Oh, kissing. Oh, violin boy.

She tasted of hope. Oh. What does that taste like? Pollen and stars, the Fallen said.

Hissetti?i her ?eyin aras?nda Karou'yu en çok kendinden geçiren Akiva'n?n fiziksel -tuz, misk kokusu, kas, ate?, ten ve ç?rp?na kalbi -gerçekli?i ve samimiyetiydi. Dudaklar?n?n tad? ve dokunu?u... Önce a?z?, sonra çenesi, boynu ve kulaklar?n?n hemen alt?ndaki yumu?ac?k doku... Öptü?ünde hissetti?i ürperi?.

It sounded just as he'd always imagined it would: like calligraphy, if calligraphy were written in honey.

But could she see things clear like you can? Could she see straight through you? See through your hair and skin to your blood and bones? Did she ever give your cheek a lick to see how you tasted and tell what you would become? Did she have a scar on her chest like a door? Did she ever leave you for long periods? Did a squirrel ever come and sit on her shoulder and whisper in her ear?