Quotes About Sensory

Lose your mind and come to your senses.

Photography is a way of feeling, of touching, of loving. What you have caught on film is captured forever... it remembers little things, long after you have forgotten everything.

I want all my senses engaged. Let me absorb the world's variety and uniqueness.

Smelling the strong coffee and that sausage , and watching the potatoes as they turned crispy golden brown in the butter, made me hungrier than I'd been in months, and when the cheese began oozing out the sides of the puffy omelette, I really wondered for a minute how much longer I could keep torturing myself like this.

She opened the McRib box and eyed the dark red, sticky sandwich. Suddenly she felt like an animal; she wanted to drag the sandwich somewhere, not anywhere in this McDonald's, not a booth, not Playland, but to a park, a shrouded corner of the woods underneath shimmering tree branches, green, dark, and serene, and then, when she was certain she was completely alone, she wanted to tear that sandwich apart with her teeth.

Those who not love what they see, will have a unpleasant emotional feeling about it. Degenen die niet houden van wat ze zien, zullen een onaangenaam emotioneel gevoel over hebben.

She breathed in the scent of lemon blossoms, inspired by how their citrus sweetness mingled with fresh ocean air. Closing her eyes, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, tasting a faint saltiness in the moisture laden breeze. She imagined how dark, rich chocolate filled with the brightness of a lemon filling and dusted with chunky sea salt might taste. Delicious, she decided.

They passed a crystal vase of luscious yellow roses, which burst from tight salmon buds into golden, creamy yellow blossoms tinged with delicate strokes of subtle peach.

She reached her doorstep. The key turned sweetly in the lock. That was the kind of thing one remembered about a house: not the size of the rooms or the color of the walls, but the feel of the door-handles and light-switches, the shape and texture of the banister-rail under one's palm; minute tactual intimacies, whose resumption was the essence of coming home.

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Remember how it was when we kissed? Armfuls and armfuls of light thrown right at us. A rope dropping down from the sky. How can the word love and the word life even fit in the mouth?

The nourishment of Cezanne's awkward apples is in the tenderness and alertness they awaken inside us.

The lamb melted on my tongue, and when I swallowed, it left little fireworks in its wake, a burst of citrus and chili and garlic and what seemed a dozen more subtle tastes as well.

His mother had become like an ocean to the boy, vast and unknowable, with faraway shorelines he could never see, could not even imagine from where he stood but that he nevertheless sensed were vivid and real.

Something happens to me when I garden. I am fully, reliably, blissfully present to who I am and where I am in that moment. I am an animal with a hundred different senses and all of them are switched on.

I want to upholster the inside lining of my nostrils with leather, to have that "new car smell" all the time.

I could feel her burrowing into my heart. I didn't know if the burrowing was like a kitten cuddling up to its mother or if it was like a chigger depositing its larvae underneath the skin of my ankles.

Can you design a Rorschach test that's going to make everyone feel something every time - and that looks like a Rorschach test? It's easy to show a picture of a kitten or a car accident. The question is, how abstract can you get and still get the audience to feel something when they don't know what's happening to them?

Try something new. Try something strange. Expose yourself to flavors you've never considered before. Taste something - anything - that makes you stop for a moment and pay attention and experience.

Yet he could not enjoy the walk. In the morning especially a bougainvillaea looks handmade, lawns are always lawns, and it is true indeed that dogs smell fear. Cats don't say.

i will wade out until my thighs are steeped in burning flowers. i will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air

my mind is a big hunk of irrevocable nothing which touch and taste and smell and hearing and sight keep hitting and chipping with sharp fatal tools in an agony of sensual chisels i perform squirms of chrome and ex -ecute strides of cobalt nevertheless i feel that i cleverly am being altered that i slightly am becoming something a little different, in fact myself hereupon helpless i utter lilac shrieks and scarlet bellowings

Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader---not the fact it is raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.

Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader – not the fact that it is raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.