Quotes About Sensory

Observe, dear lady, what a light is dying on the trees! Does it penetrate your heart, as it penetrates mine?

How do you know but ev'ry Bird that cuts the airy way, Is an immense world of delight, clos'd by your senses five?

none can desire what he has not perceiv'd.

GöÄŸü kesip geçen her KuÅŸun, nereden biliyorsun ki, Senin beÅŸ duyuna kapal? hazz?n engin dünyas? olmad???n??

I stopped and filled my lungs, smelling Africa - smelling dust, woodsmoke, a perfume from a flower, something musty, something decaying.

When I was a boy I first learned how much better water tastes when it has set a while in a cedar bucket. Warmish-cool, with a faint taste like the hot July wind in Cedar trees smells.

Caddy olía como los árboles cuando llueve y como cuando ella dice que estamos dormidos.

Caddy smelled like trees in the rain.

Po jakim? czasie cz?owiek przyzwyczaja si?, zapomina i nawet nie czuje, ?e zimno, bo zapomnia?, co to jest ciep?o.

as he strode on, moving almost as fast as a smaller man could have trotted, his body breasting the air her body had vacated, his eyes touching the objects—post and tree and field and house and hill—her eyes had lost.

You just can't understand anything you can't get your hands on, anything you can't feel or see or, or count...

Something he'd found and lost so many times. It belonged, he knew – he remembered – as she pulled him down, to the meat, the flesh the cowboys mocked. It was a vast thing, beyond knowing, a sea of information coded in spiral and pheromone, infinite intricacy that only the body, in its strong blind way, could ever read.

And the Flatline aligned the nose of Kuang's sting with the center of the dark below. And dove. Case's sensory input warped with their velocity. His mouth filled with an aching taste of blue. His eyes were eggs of unstable crystal, vibrating with a frequency whose name was rain and the sounds of trains, suddenly sprouting a humming forest of hair-fine spines. The spines split, bisected, split again, exponential growth under the dome of the Tessier-Ashpool ice.

It belonged, he knew—he remembered—as she pulled him down, to the meat, the flesh the cowboys mocked. It was a vast thing, beyond knowing, a sea of information coded in spiral and pheromone, infinite intricacy that only the body, in its strong blind way, could ever read.

She rode him that way, impaling herself, slipping down on him again and again, until they both had come, his orgasm flaring blue in a timeless space, a vastness like the matrix, where the faces were shredded and blown away down hurricane corridors, and her inner thighs were strong and wet against his hips.

The zipper hung, caught, as he opened the French fatigues, the coils of toothed nylon clotted with salt. He broke it, some tiny metal parts shooting off against the wall of salt-rotten cloth gave, then was in her, effecting the transmission of the old message. Here, even here, in a place he knew for what it was, a coded model of some stranger's memory, the drive held.

Arleigh's van smelled like long-chain monomers and warm electronics.

Something that induced a dissociative state. It was difficult to complain about a dissociative state.

He had felt no pain, not once, none. He had closed his eyes and taken his brain away. That was the secret. If you could take your brain away from the present and sent it to where it could contemplate skin like wintry cream; well, let them enjoy themselves.

There is the heat, which clots the air around her and stops up her pores and her eyes and ears

I closed my eyes then but it was too dark to clearly see that vision that my body would conjure out of blood and the inside of skin when light hit it, but I'd seen it so often, examined it so carefully, that it wasn't hard for me to call to mind.

New Crobuzon again. Unceasing, unstintingly itself. Warm that spring, gamy: the rivers were stinking. Noisy. Uninterrupted New Crobuzon.

Defining moments rise above the everyday. They provoke not just transient happiness, like laughing at a friend's joke, but memorable delight. (You pick up the red phone and someone says, "Popsicle Hotline, we'll be right out.") To construct elevated moments, we must boost sensory pleasures

Here's our three-part recipe to create more moments of elevation: (1) Boost the sensory appeal; (2) Raise the stakes; (3) Break the script. Usually elevated moments have 2 or 3 of those traits.