Quotes About Sensory

I once stole a pornographic book that was printed in braille. I used to rub the dirty parts.

When I closed my eyes, the world was filled with sound.

It became more difficult to breathe. I looked around. My body was now included among the objects arranged on the floor. I lay there between the music box and the harmonica, my two legs protruding at odd angles, my hands crossed on my chest, my eyes lowered. In the same way he had wound the spring on the music box or blown into the harmonica, I imagined R would now caress my body in order to call forth memories.

Ibland sätter jag händerna mot väggen och försöker föreställa mig hur det är utanför. Jag tänker att det kanske kan gå att uppfatta någonting genom händernas beröring med väggen. Sådant som vindriktning, kyla, fukt, platsen du är på, vattnets porlande floden. Men det går aldrig. Väggen är bara en vägg. Det finns ingenting bakom den, den är inte sammankopplad med någonting.

The male members of the species Homo sapiens appealed to me a great deal. They were soft and small and had fragile but adorable teeth. Their fingers were delicately constructed, the fingernails all but nonexistent. Sometimes they reminded me of stuffed animals, lovely to hold in one's arms.

Banul n-o fi avand miros, dar, Doamne! ce bine miroase.

Hedonia is happiness we get when we take from the world. Chocolate. Parties. Stuff. It's all coming from outside ourselves.

Food is the new rock and roll.

He looks at the glass, almost ritualistically, then drains it, and thinks: not drinking would be so much easier if it wasn't so delicious.

The room has Nic's smell—not the sweet childhood smell he once had, but a cloying odor of incense and marijuana, cigarettes and aftershave, possibly a trace of ammonia or formaldehyde, the residual odor of burning meth. Smells like teen spirit.

I closed my eyes and let out a breath that smelled like I'd eaten an entire wet dog and washed it down with sweat wrung from a hobo's undershirt.

But in those first hours after you take it, your brain is tuned in like nothing you can imagine. Eyes like the Hubble telescope, sensing light that's not even on the spectrum. You might be able to read minds, make time stop, cook pasta that's exactly right every time.

you had wired-up glasses, you could overlay your view with their feed—literally see the world through their eyes, blotting out your own reality completely.

We can't see around walls, we can't see heat or cold, we can't see electricity or radio signals, we can't see at a distance. It is a sense so limited that we might as well not have it, yet we have evolved to depend so heavily on it as a species that all other perception has atrophied.

light-headed, my body trembling from shoes to shoulders in random spells, like I swallowed a vibrator. It's always like this when I'm on the sauce. I dosed six hours ago.

You'll know you've officially become sleep deprived when you have the unique feeling of being drunk, high, and on a psychiatric hold all at the same time. Some

Words described real experiences, and their curves and lines left a mental trail for me to follow by sense memory, whereas numbers threw curves at me and stonewalled me with their lines, barring me from understanding them, where they came from, and where they went. Math did not describe anything to me; if people themselves were often disconnected parts—sometimes one, sometimes many—how could I hope to quantify the rest of the world? Discrete amounts had little meaning for me.

Other sounds, though quiet, would be painful to me and make me see colors, after which I would fight a metallic taste in my mouth.

I scooted around the house and looked in the window and was able to really see my family in a way that was, I guess, a lot clearer, because I had a lot less sensory input. I could look in through the window and see my family and feel closer to them than if I had been in the same room.

There is another mechanism which even further selects and distorts incoming sensory information, and which is extremely important to the therapeutic purposes of bodywork. Side-by-side with the ascending dorsal and spinothalamic pathways are descending sensory pathways, outgoing tracts from the brain which are not efferent, which do not contact motor neurons, but which synapse densely with the ascending sensory pathways and exert a centrifugal flow against their incoming sensory information.

And as with the sensory elements of the motor spindles, the pathways carrying the sensory information from the Golgis are culminated in the ganglia of the brain stem, with very few direct connections to the conscious cortical areas. We normally receive no more conscious sensation from the Golgis than we do from the muscle spindles; their information is processed and responded to primarily in the brain stem and the spinal cord, beneath our level of conscious awareness.

When we peer into the fine structures of their tissue, we discover that our muscles turn out to be full of sense organs, and very fine sense organs at that. The principle kind, the muscle spindles, are the most elaborate sensory structures in the body outside the eyes and ears.8

He smelled of leather and wool and tasted of apples and I could have died in that moment and counted myself happy.

Because words were hills and valleys you traveled, so lovely sometimes that they hurt your eyes.