Quotes About Sensory

Por qué las palmas de mi mano tienen una memoria más fiel que mi memoria?

Hasta el deseo se vuelve puro, hasta el acto más definitivamente consagrado al sexo se vuelve casi inmaculado. [...] Esa pureza es querer cada centímetro de su piel, es aspirar su olor, es recorrer su vientre, poro a poro. Es llevar el deseo hasta la cumbre

Por qué las palmas de mis manos tienen una memoria más fiel que mi memoria?

The sight made her ache. How can I not touch you? she thought hopelessly, and then she was doing it, her fingers on his wrist. He didn't jump or even look at her, just stopped writing. Neither one of them moved, nothing moved, and the whole thing lasted three or four seconds at most, but when Pen took her hand away and started to breathe again, her chest hurt, as though she had been holding her breath for a very long time.

But I didn't cry. I sat stiller than I'd ever sat, just kind of falling in on myself, getting denser and smaller, and all the while I screamed. Not with my vocal chords, nothing so pure and ordinary as that. My mouth didn't move, but I screamed with my whole body, my hair, my fingers, the back of my neck, the pit of my stomach, the pores of my skin. I screamed until I didn't have any voice left, until I was empty, and then I floated, shivering, in an ice-cold ocean of silence.

I lost track of where I ended and the city began, and after a few blocks, I'd have stretched to include the flower stand, the guy selling "designer" handbags on the corner, the skyscrapers' shining geometry, the scent of roasting nuts, the café with its bowl of green apples in the window, and the two gorgeous shopgirls on break, flamingolike and sucking on cigarettes outside their fancy boutique, eyes closed, rapturous, as though to smoke were very heaven.

She knew her death was near because time had begun to fold like a fan so that the past and the present rubbed together in ways that made her feel supple and porous, as if time were moving through her body and not the other way around.

We taste the fragrance of the rose.

Loud noises, bright lights, the motion of a passing car, all made him swoon.

Empathy is a sensory experience; that is, it activates the sensory part of your nervous system, including the mirror neurons we've talked about. Anger, on the other hand, is a motor action—usually a reaction to some perceived hurt or injury by another person. So by taking people out of anger and shifting them into an empathic behavior, the Empathy Jolt moves them from the motor brain to the sensory brain.

Alone, even in a crowd. Dead, but able to touch and sense the living. Real, but intangible.

A painting is not a picture of an experience, but is the experience.

I am fond of the sound of horses in the night. The lifting of feet. Stamping. The clicking of their iron shoes against rock. They mouth one anothers withers and rear and squeal and whirl and shuffle and cough and stand and snort. There is the combined rumblings of each individual gut. They sound larger than they are. The air tastes of horses, ripples as though come alive with their good-hearted strength and stamina.

female-and-jasmine scent.

Shirley MacLaine said, You're so funny, then gave me a hug. Everything went white. I couldn't hear, I couldn't see. I thought I was going to pass out

Tropical trees had been planted throughout the room, along with bright flowering plants that were busy committing the olfactory floral equivalent of aggravated assault.

The smell of moist earth and lilacs hung in the air like wisps of the past and hints of the future.

All sensations are true; pleasure is our natural goal.

I think no woman I have had ever gave me so sweet a moment, or at so light a price, as the moment I owe to a newly heard musical phrase.

I understand perfectly why some of my autistic patients scream and flap their arms--it's to frighten off extroverts

To be mindful means to be back in touch with your senses, so you can see, hear, touch, smell and taste things

A bad smell, like a good one, can follow you into tomorrow.

There is a basic principle that distinguishes a hot medium like radio from a cool one like the telephone, or a hot medium like the movie from a cool one like TV…. Hot media are… low in participation, and cool media are high in participation or completion by the audience.

While Emily's verse always drew from more than the literal details of her life, impaired vision made her rely on her imagination even more. If she could not see distinctly or at all, she would have to tap into her metaphorical reserve. She may have found that imagination gave her a richer sense of perception than what she could discern from her eyes.