Quotes About Sensory

The dark liquid looked black in the glass, and she had to restrain herself from gulping it. Fresh tobacco. Black currants. God, it was so good. She kept it in her mouth for a count of ten before she swallowed. If there was any magic in this world that was not magic, it was wine.

An anaesthetic is a poet-killer.

The fragrance that permeates his picture of the good life is not the heavy fragrance of rose-petals and incense falling upon languorous couches: it is the fragrance of the morning grass, and the scent of crushed mint or marjoram beneath the feet.

Love is poetry. To fall in love with a person is like understanding a deep, moving poem. Noticing every little detail. To see what the poet shows, to smell what he describes and the urge to taste the intangible.

Immersion was founded in 1993 with the mission of bringing the sense of touch to computing. Our technology, TouchSense, is embedded in computer peripheral devices and allows users to reach in and physically interact with content on their computer screens.

I don't believe in reading. I don't care about reading. It means nothing to me. I believe that by using your eyes and ears, you'll find everything that there is, and you don't have to read about it.

When you start using senses you've neglected, your reward is to see the world with completely fresh eyes.

I like perfume and flowers.

A food's value is based on how good it tastes.

Apart from the faint odor of ink that pervaded the scene, it might have been real.

I took a sip of my drink. It tasted like old horse blankets soaked in urine.

Sentir antes de comprender.

Delicious was not a term applicable to anything below the crust of that volcano, whose heady vapors numbed his ravished senses.

My eyes feel all soft, all soft as flesh. I'm going to sleep.

MdÅ'oÅ›ci nie znajdujÄ… siÄ™ we mnie: czujÄ™ je tam na Å›cianie, na szelkach, wszÄ™dzie wokóÅ' mnie. ??czÄ… siÄ™ z kawiarniÄ…, to ja znajdujÄ™ siÄ™ w nich.

I exist. It's sweet, so sweet, so slow. And light: you'd think it floated all by itself. It stirs. It brushes by me, melts and vanishes. Gently, gently. There is bubbling water in my mouth. I swallow. It slides down my throat, it caresses me—and now it comes up again into my mouth. For ever I shall have a little pool of whitish water in my mouth—lying low—grazing my tongue. And this pool is still me. And the tongue. And the throat is me.

Lola was beside him , soft and very warm, and Boris could not bring himself to utter the slightest word, his voice was dead. 'Just as though I were dumb.' It was delicious, his voice was floating at the far end of his throat, soft as cotton, and could not emerge, for it was dead.

Satin skin, silk hair, velvet eyes, sawdust heart - all complete.

It was as if a curtain had fallen, hiding everything I had ever known. It was almost like being born again. The colours were different, the smells different, the feeling things gave you right down inside yourself was different. Not just the difference between heat, cold; light, darkness; purple, grey. But a difference in the way I was frightened and the way I was happy.

I can remember every second of that morning, if I shut my eyes I can see the deep blue colour of the sky and the mango leaves, the pink and red hibiscus, the yellow handkerchief she wore around her head, tied in the Martinique fashion with the sharp points in front, but now I see everything still, fixed for ever like the colours in a stained-glass window. Only the clouds move. It was wrapped in a leaf, what she had given me, and I felt it cool and smooth against my skin.

Everything is too much, I felt as I rode wearily after her. Too much blue, too much purple, too much green. The flowers too red, the mountains too high, the hills too near.

We thread our way through a moving forest of ice-cream cones and crimson thighs.

She arches her body like a cat on a stretch. She nuzzles her cunt into my face like a filly at the gate. She smells of the sea. She smells of rockpools when I was a child. She keeps a starfish in there. I crouch down to taste the salt, to run my fingers around the rim. She opens and shuts like a sea anemone. She's refilled each day with fresh tides of longing.

I have flown the distance of your body from side to side of your ivory coast. I know the forests where I can rest and feed. I have mapped you with my naked eye and stored you out of sight. The millions of cells that make up your tissues are plotted on my retina. Night flying I know exactly where I am. Your body is my landing strip.