Quotes About Sensory

He said he preferred to feel the earth sing through his feet, and that shoes stopped you from hearing the song of the earth.

Here is my theory: If smoking is really good, you should be able to smoke and do nothing else at the same time, really focusing all your attention on smoking and how it makes you feel.

I also urge you not to wash your hands, face or mouth in between cigarettes. Let the taste and smell stay with you, in your hair, your clothes, hands and face.

Imagine a time before you had ever had chocolate. Going to lectures about chocolate would have been interesting. Reading about chocolate might have increased your appetite. But only tasting chocolate would have really made you understand how good chocolate can be. Only tasting— only experience.

Las facciones de mi padre a menudo se me olvidan. Me angustio y trato de reconstruirlas, no siempre lo logro. Su imagen me elude, se torna vaporosa. ¿Dónde tenía ese lunar? ¿A qué olía? ¿Era zurdo o derecho? ¿Cómo era su voz? Años junto a él quedaron reducidos al relámpago de veinte, treinta instantes. La mayoría vagos, confusos, que no permiten armar el rompecabezas completo.

The room smelled milky, of vanilla and almond, from the breakdown of chemical compounds in the old paper.

He is hearing the music, yes, but he's also feeling it, reflecting it, and from that reflection Elisa can hear and feel the music as she never has before.

Elisa nuzzles into the phrase, explores it, finds it familiar, almost cozy.

He is not there but You know you are tasting together The winter, or a light spring weather. His hand to take your hand is overmuch. Too much too bear.

They walk down Westheimer, a long, long street that always smells of burnt rubber and carbon monoxide, occasionally interrupted by the aromas of foods from all over the world: Mexican, Japanese, Indian, Brazilian, Vietnamese, Chinese, Guatemalan, etc.

The simplest and most complicated thing in life, is to feel what you cannot describe.

First we feel. Then we fall.

Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.

I think I would know Nora's fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women.

I'd love to have the whole place swimming in roses

White wine is like electricity. Red wine looks and tastes like a liquified beefsteak.

Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies.

he said it was sweeter and thicker than cows then he wanted to milk me into the tea...

He kissed the plump mellow yellow smellow melons of her rump, on each plump melonous hemisphere, in their mellow yellow furrow, with obscure prolonged provocative melonsmellonous osculation.

The mouth can be better engaged than with a cylinder of rank weed.

He foresaw his pale body reclined in it at full, naked, in a womb of warmth, oiled by scented melting soap, softly laved. He saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow: his navel, bud of flesh: and saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid floating flower.

A warm human plumpness settled down on his brain. His brain yielded. Perfume of embraces all him assailed. With hungered flesh obscurely, he mutely craved to adore.

All my senses seemed to desire to veil themselves and, feeling that I was about to slip from them, I pressed the palms of my hands together until they trembled, murmuring: "O love! O love!" many times.

He looked calmly down on her bulk and between her large soft bubs, sloping within her nightdress like a shegoat's udder.