Quotes About Sensory

Debussy is one of the few composers who actually created a new sound on the piano - or perhaps we should say a new smell, so perfumed are the vibrations which emanate from the instrument.

We think of our eyes as video cameras and our brains as blank tapes to be filled with sensory inputs.

There are films like 'Interstellar' where you cannot replicate the experience of seeing it in IMAX - it's an amazing film presented in a spectacular way. It really is an experience, like going to Disneyland, and you can't replicate that by watching home videos of going to Disneyland.

From a psychoanalytical point of view, we start discovering the world through our mouths in the very first stage of our lives, when we're just born.

It wasn't just coffee...it was an experience. Smooth, roasted, buttery notes gave away to a velvet finish.

Daisy, love," he whispered, "You're so soft…so dainty…where shall I touch you? Here? Or here…" "There," she sobbed, as his fingers slid to just the right spot. "Yes…oh, there…

Turning her hand over, Gabriel kissed her palm and shaped her fingers against his cheek. his shaven skin was smooth in one direction and softly abrasive in the other, like a cat's tongue. The firelight had turned him golden everywhere except for those eyes, the clear blue of an arctic star.

He loved the colors of her, pink and mauve and ivory, all washed in light. The glistening tumble of her hair held the colors of autumn: chestnut, maple, russet, umber.

She strained as he began to kiss along the side of her neck. Her skin was hot from exertion, a little salty, and her scent was divinely arousing: horses, fresh winter air, roses.

His attempt at polite discussion having been rebuffed, Cam sat back as the soup was removed and the second course was brought out. Sweetbreads in béchamel sauce, partridges nestled in herb beds, pigeon pies, roast snipe, and vegetable soufflé laced the air with a cacophony of rich scents.

After one last luxurious inhalation of her scent, Devon released her slowly, knowing that for the rest of his life, a single breath of a rose would bring him back to this moment.

Sing to me," Merripen whispered as the blinding darkness rolled over him. Win continued to stroke his head as she crooned a lullaby. His fingers touched her throat, seeking the precious vibration of her voice, and the sparks faded as he lost himself in her, his fate, at last.

I want morning and noon and nightfall with you. I want your tears, your smiles, your kisses...the smell of your hair, the taste of your skin, the touch of your breath on my face. I want to see you in the final hour of my life...to lie in your arms as I take my last breath.

Darkness surrounded me, a complete absence of light that left me shaking inside. No. It wasn't the darkness that had me shaking. It was him. I could feel him, even if I could not see him. Oh yes, I could feel him. In every pore of my body, every nerve ending I owned, I could feel him. 

Personally, I like to imagine the Godhead dancing it a rhythm of its own, something even grander than a waltz, touching, tasting, smelling, seeing, and hearing, creating wonder after wonder, and when it's finished, looking upon the handiwork and saying, "This is great!

I reached up and touched his face, feeling the appealingly masculine stubble there.

One of the great joys in life is having ones hair brushed.

but in the city in which I love you, no one comes, no one meets me in the brick clefts; in the wedged dark, no finger touches me secretly, no mouth tastes my flawless salt, no one wakens the honey in the cells, finds the humming in the ribs, the rich business in the recesses; hulls clogged, I continue laden

O, to take what we love inside, to carry within us an orchard, to eat not only the skin, but the shade, not only the sugar, but the days, to hold the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into the round jubilance of peach.

Which is this? This is persimmons, Father. Oh, the feel of the wolftail on the silk, the strength, the tense precision in the wrist. I painted them hundreds of times eye's closed. These I painted blind. Some things never leave a person: scent of hair of one you love, the texture of persimmons, in your palm, the ripe weight.

For a women to wear the clothes that a man had bought her was to feel his touch with every waking moment. For a man to hear the whisper of cloth as walked, was to feel her response to him, the throb of her pulse as it intensified, the silky heat between her thighs as waited for him to unwrap her.

From Joe Gardener's Notebook "You are taste and smell and feeling of pen on paper, you are perfect- Do you know how perfect you are? .. I am nothing but a pair of eyes, waiting to be looked into

A good barbecue sauce should be as complex as the bouquet of a fine wine. It should have notes of sweetness, acidity, and a hint of pepperiness.

Hands are integral with brains, almost another lobe for intelligence. What one does not know through one's hands, one does not truly know.