Quotes About Sensory

The room smelled of children, that sunlight smell over socks and sweat.

I stepped inside the front hall and kicked off my snow boots. I slammed the door behind me, making the dark ruby and emerald glass shake in the small leaded panes. I slid purposely on the hall rug, causing it to bunch and crinkle on the slippery polished oak of the floor.

Cosa vuol dire amare, figlia mia? Tu lo sai? Amare per me fu tenere il respiro di Italia nelle braccia e accorgermi che ogni altro rumore si era spento. Sono un medico, so riconoscere le pulsazioni del mio cuore, sempre, anche quando non voglio. Te lo giuro, Angela, era di Italia il cuore che batteva dentro di me.

Puzzavo di libri e di onestà.

The transitional object itself described by Winnicott (1953) is a monument to the need for this contact with the mother's body, which is so touchingly expressed in the infant's insistent preference for an object which is lasting, soft, pliable, warm to the touch, but especially in the demand that it remain saturated with body odors.1. .

Every day was a lesson in how starved the eyes could grow for hue, for reds and golds; how starved the ears could grow for conga drums, for the blare of traffic, for dogs barking, for the baseball games chattering from TVs, for foices talking flatly, conversationally, with rising excitement in Spanish, for children playing n the streets, the Puerto Rican children whose voices sounded faster, harder, than Chicano Spanish, as if there were more metal in their throats.

Every day was a lesson in how starved the eyes could grow for hue, for reds and golds; how starved the ears could grow for conga drums, for the blare of traffic, for dogs barking, for the baseball games chattering from TVs, for voices talking flatly, conversationally, with rising excitement in Spanish, for children playing in the streets, the Puerto Rican children whose voices sounded faster, harder, than Chicano Spanish, as if there were more metal in their throats.

The cork had come out with a ghost of a pop; it was a beautiful sound, regretful, grateful, kind. "There

When music fails to agree to the ear, to soothe the ear and the heart and the senses, then it has missed its point.

And there's the loudest sound I've ever heard and the brightest white I've ever seen, and I'm made of it, I'm- I'm made of light I'm made of heat And I'm flying

I studied the shape of my friend's hands, and how he clasped them. I could smell his skin and hair in the cold air of the church, and stood aching, my face a devout mask stretched over a rotten soul. On

The world was furred with late spring snow. It was the soft, thick stuff that excites you unless you are driving or half dead, packing snow already falling in caterpillars off the greening branches.

If you wish, gentle reader, you may augment your mental tableau with dramatic orchestral accompaniment.

But she continued to wonder what the fish tasted like, so brilliant and vivid pink. Would it taste pink?

The smell of good bread baking, like the sound of lightly flowing water, is indescribable in its evocation of innocence and delight

You are offered a piece of bread and butter that feels like a damp handkerchief and sometimes, when cucumber is added to it, like a wet one.

Someone is putting brandy in your bonbons, Grand Marnier in your breakfast jam, Kahlua in your ice cream, Scotch in your mustard and Wild Turkey in your cake.

It's so beautifully arranged on the plate - you know someone's fingers have been all over it.

All living beings, not just animals, but plants and microorganisms, perceive. To survive, an organic being must perceive - it must seek, or at least recognize, food and avoid environmental danger.

The best thing you can do for someone is make them a beautiful plate of food. How else can you invade someone's body without actually touching them?

Coffee is a fleeting moment and a fragrance.

Gourmandise is an impassioned, rational, and habitual preference for all objects which flatter the sense of taste.

I think if I were a woman I'd wear coffee as a perfume.

When from a long distant past nothing subsists after the things are broken and scattered, the smell and taste of things remain.