Quotes About Sensory

She watched him a while longer and then shut her eyes again. And even though she knew her hand was tucked beneath her cheek and he was on the far side of the room, the instant she closed her eyes he was there beside her again, his hands crossed on his chest and her hand held tightly under them, pressed safely against his heart. Who

From daydreams on the road there was no waking. He plodded on. He could remember everything of her save her scent. Seated in a theatre with her beside him leaning forward listening to the music. Gold scrollwork and sconces and the tall columnar folds of the drapes at either side of the stage. She held his hand in her lap and he could feel the tops of her stockings through the thin stuff of her summer dress. Freeze this frame. Now call down your dark and your cold and be damned.

Una negrura como para que dolieran los oídos de escucha

Dont you just love the taste of ozone? Like a fucking zinc milkshake.

Papa mole comes along tunneling under the garden and he sniffs and he says: I smell rutabagas. And Mama mole comes along behind him and she sniffs and she says: I smell turnips. And Baby mole comes along and sniffs and what does Baby mole say he smells? He say he dont smell nothin but molasses. They

They did not smell like horses. They smelled like what they were, wild animals. He held the horse's face against his chest and he could feel along his inner thighs the blood pumping through the arteries and he could smell the fear and he cupped his hand over the horse's eyes and stroked them and he did not stop talking to the horse at all, speaking in a low steady voice and telling it all that he intended to do and cupping the animal's eyes and stroking the terror out.

Words,words filled the night like the fragrance of invisible flowers.

He closed the window, and the scents of the past again flooded the room, like a bunch of wilted flowers.

A menina escutou a respiração, o som latejante do seu coração batendo normalmente, como um metrônomo marcando o andamento musical.

Faber sniffed the book. "Do you know that books smell like nutmeg or some spice from a foreign land? I loved to smell them when I was a boy." Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Joanna had the fisherman's pie. 'What's under the mashed potato?' Slider asked. Joanna chewed thoughtfully for a moment and then looked down. 'Something white,' she said at last. 'With little bits of something pink.' She chewed again. 'I am eating, aren't I?' she appealed for reassurance. 'It's so hard to tell without some sensory input, like taste or texture.

Oh - one would feel things instead of merely looking at them. I should feel the air move against me, and feel the things I touched, instead of having only to look at them. I'm sure life is all wrong because it has become too visual - we can neither hear or feel nor understand, we can only see. I'm sure that is entirely wrong.

She could hear a distant coughing of a sheep.

He hid his face against her, who was warm and like sunlight. She seemed to have sunlight inside her. Her heart beating seemed like sunlight upon him

And as she smoothed her hand over the silk collar, she thought of her eldest son. But this son was living enough inside the clothes. She passed her hand down his back to feel him. He was alive and hers.

If we sip the wine, we find dreams coming upon us out of the imminent night.

He was filled with the warmth of her. In the glow, he could almost feel her as if she were present.

Cassirer asks the question, How can a sensory content become the vehicle of meaning?

The scent of these arm-pits is aroma finer than prayer...

To be in any form, what is that? (round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither,) If nothing lay more develop'd the quahung in it's callous shell were enough. Mine is no callous shell. I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, they seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me. I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and I am happy, to touch my person to someone else's is about as much as I can stand.

I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing hearing and feeling are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.

Blind loving wrestling touch, sheath'd hooded sharp-tooth'd touch! Did it make you ache so, leaving me?

A leitura está cheia de aromas.»

Poseo hilos conductores rapidísimos, ya esté quieto o en marcha. tentáculos que se apoderan de todas las cosas y las llevan intactas a través de mi ser. Cuando rozo, palpo o siento con mis dedos, soy feliz. Y tocar otro cuerpo es algo que apenas puedo resistir.