Quotes About Sensory

Then, as one hand tightened on me and his other ran gently over my hair, I noticed something. He didn't smell right.

I was so awash in sensory overload that I was caught completely unaware when he did push me away

If your eyes weren't open, you wouldn't know the difference between dreaming and waking.

Rainbow drops - suck them and you can spit in six different colours.

By sticking out his tongue and curling it sideways to explore the hairy jungle around his mouth, he was always able to find a tasty morsel here and there to nibble on.

Twice a day, on his way to and from school, little Charlie Bucket had to walk right past the gates of the factory. And every time he went by, he would begin to walk very, very slowly, and he would hold his nose high in the air and take long deep sniffs of the gorgeous chocolatey smell all around him. Oh

MAGIC HAND-FUDGE—WHEN YOU HOLD IT IN YOUR HAND, YOU TASTE IT IN YOUR MOUTH.

Un libro cruje cuando lo abres, como una galleta, y los negros regueros de tinta, sobre el frágil papel, despiden un olor sutil y sabroso, semejante al de ciertas frutas livianas.

I point out these details because we are tactile creatures. Fabric, leather, graphics, paint, paper—these substances and surfaces we surround ourselves with powerfully affect us.

ETIC REALITY: the hypothetical actuality that has not been filtered through the emic reality of a human nervous system or linguistic grid. If you have anything to say about Etic Reality without using words or any other symbols, please send a full description of it to the author at once.

Even Aristotle, despite the abuse he has suffered in these pages, had enough common sense to point out, once, that I see always contains fallacy; we should say I have seen. Time always elapses between the impact of energy on the eye and the creation of an image (and associated name and ideas) in the brain, which explains why three eyewitnesses to a hit-and-run such as we postulate here may report, not just the blue Ford of the first speaker, but a blue VW or maybe even a green Toyota.

In our maturer years, when an object of vision is presented to us which bears any similitude to the form of the female bosom . . .we feel a general glow of delight which seems to influence all of our senses . . .

Every Real Universe is easy to understand, because it is much simpler than the existential continuum. Theists, Nazis, Flat Earthers, etc. can explain their Real Universes as quickly as any Fundamentalist Materialist explains his, because of this simplicity of the edited object as contrasted with the complexity of the sensory-sensual continuum in which we live when awake (unhypnotized).

I peeked under the covers. Susan was naked except for a pair of thick white athletic socks.

You walked a mile in the rain to drink hot water?" "To be with you," she said. "You're better than pie." And I turned under the umbrella and embraced her with my free arm and pressed my mouth against hers and held her hard against me and smelled her perfume and closed my eyes and kissed her for a long time in the still rain, and even after

And she pressed closer to me and we were silent and I smelled her, and felt her and listened to her, and knew that if I had nothing else but this, this would be enough.

Her breasts were good, her thighs were terrific. When she shook hands with me, I felt something click down back of my solar plexus.

I heard this drop and drop like rain outside Fast-falling through the darkness while she spoke...

Ho sentito un alito di brezza, il primo da quattro mesi che non lasciasse una morsa gelida. Ho annusato la primavera, e la linfa che scorreva. Stavo vivendo uno di quei rari momenti di pace assoluta, in cui il corpo è rilassato, la mente non s'interroga e il mondo è un trionfo. E tutto perché Teheran era lontana.

The man's breathing grew shallow and steady, his heartbeat slowed, and when the surge of his pulse grew no slower, Maggie knew he was sleeping. She lifted her head enough to see him, but seeing him was unnecessary. She could smell his sleep by the change in his scent as his body relaxed and cooled. She

Here is America Now: smoke, greasy fumes, the friction of tire rubber, the memory of terrifying refineries with their rubbery rotten-egg smells.

The ear is the only true writer and the only true reader. I know people who read without hearing the sentence sounds and they were the fastest readers. Eye readers we call them. They get the meaning by glances. But they are bad readers because they miss the best part of what a good writer puts into his work.

Absorbed in the new scents, the sounds, and the sunlight...

I wonder if he's ever tasted salt water or got dizzy watching the tide pull away from his feet