Quotes About Sensory

Music (is) woven into the fabric of the corporeal world.

Listening to that woman was like licking melted ice cream off the carton.

Perfume should tell a story – the story of who you are, who you might be, perhaps even of who you fear becoming . . . all of these things are possible. It's a very intimate element of a woman, just like her signature or the sound of her voice. And it conveys feelings and states of being that have no name, no language. Its very ambiguity makes it truer than words because, unlike words, it can't be manipulated or misunderstood.

The world is defined by smells – not words or shapes or sounds. This is the language that makes sense, that everyone understands.

Babies weren't babies—they were land mines; bear traps; wasp nests. They were a noise, which was sometimes even not a noise, but merely a listening for a noise; they were a damp, chalky smell; they were the heaving, jerky, sticky manifestation of not-sleep.

She was suddenly aware of her own skin: she could feel the roughness of her linen undershirt and the soft fur of her boots, and her nipples tingled as they pressed against his chest.

He stared at her bare body, but she no longer felt embarrassed—his look inflamed her like an intimate caress.

Ralph's nostrils filled with a smell he loved: a mixture of sweating horses, wet dogs, leather, and blood. Ralph

turns me on so loud it's like no sound, everybody yelling at me hands over their ears from behind a glass wall, faces working around in talk circles but no sound from the mouths. my sound soaks up all other sound.

She slides through the door with a gust of cold and locks the door behind her and I see her fingers trail across the polished steel—tip of each finger the same color as her lips. Funny orange. Like the tip of a soldering iron. Color so hot or so cold if she touches you with it you can't tell which.

El dios, o la diosa, del capitalismo, del marxismo, del industrialismo, de la ecología profunda, del consumismo o del ecofeminismo es el dios de lo que puede verse con los ojos, percibirse con los sentidos, registrarse con los sentimientos o venerarse con las sensaciones, un dios al que puede hincarse el diente y que se agota en las formas.

Words are poor interpreters in the realms of emotion. When all words end, music begins; when they suggest, it realizes; and hence is the secret of its strange, inexpressible power.

Create a world in front of your readers where they can taste, smell, touch, hear, see, and move. Else they are likely going to move on to another book.

Beauty was empty as a gourd, vain as a parakeet. But it had power. It smelled of musk and oranges and made you close your eyes in a prayer.

Everything in the service needs to preach - architecture, lighting, songs, prayers, fellowship, the smell - it all preaches. All five senses must be engaged to experience God.

Humans are tuned for relationship. The eyes, the skin, the tongue, ears, and nostrils-all are gates where our body receives the nourishment of otherness.

There is only one thing a writer can write about: what is in front of his senses at the moment of writing.

Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.

Paddling palms and pinching fingers.

A man whose bloodIs very snow-broth; one who never feelsThe wanton stings and motions of the sense.

I am giddy, expectation whirls me round.The imaginary relish is so sweetThat it enchants my sense.

The fringed curtains of thine eye advance.

The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.

An owl sound wandered along the road with me. I didn't hear it--I breathed it into my ears.