Quotes About Sensory

He tongue swiped my sex like was licking the frosting off a cupcake. I called out to heaven again. . . . My sounds encouraged him to torture me.

My sounds encouraged his tongue to torture me. . . . Without embarrassment he sucked me like I was a man . . . . Glanced up at me as I looked down at him. . . . Then put all of his tongue deep inside me again. I lost it. People in planes, and on Century, Sepulveda, and Airport boulevards, heard my sexual pleas.

We do not have direct access to the physical world. It may feel as if we have direct access, but this is an illusion created by our brain" (Frith 2007).

As Rothko was to say about these later works, "A painting is not a picture of an experience. It is an experience.

They explored the nature of visual representation by reducing images to their essential elements of form, line, color, or light.

For the taste of the fruit is the tongue´s dream, and the apple´s red is the passion of the eye

Writers know that if you want to portray a person succinctly, tellingly, you describe the way he eats. Food is the royal road to the unconscious.

My pupils are stabbed into my head like black thumbtacks pinning my entire face in place.

God isn't chocolate, he's the encounter between chocolate and the palate capable of appreciating it.

Not all the beautiful things are seen, sometimes, they are felt.

Cities with all their advantages have something hostile to liberal learning, the seductions are so subtle and accost the senses so openly on all sides.

A blind man can see how much I love you

He's beautiful, for one thing, although I know boys hate to be called that. I could look at him for hours, his soft, gray eyes and the long lines of his body, the birthmark I found on the right side of his neck, a dark fleck shaped like a crescent moon.

faded blue flannel shirt, and he smelled so good, I kept lowering my head to his shoulder and breathing in the dark, rich scent hidden in the hollow of his throat.

You are ice and fire The touch of you burns my hands like snow

Quand vous êtes venue, vous m'étiez vin rouge et miel, Et votre goût me brûla la langue de sa douceur, À présent vous voilà pain matinal, Mou et agréable. Je vous goûte à peine, tellement votre saveur m'est connue, Pourtant je suis complètement nourrie.

Segregate the kitty returning from the vet in a room alone for at least half a day. That gives him time to self-groom and remove all the icky clinic smell from his fur,

Perfume makers know that, owing to genetic differences in how we experience fragrances, about half the people who inhale jasmine will think of honey, and the other half, unfortunately, will think of urine. They're both right.

The pears are pale with faint brown spotting. I reach out and press. The point at which ripeness crosses over into decay is unperceivable. Only the fact remains. The slightly overly sweet, acrid stench. The soft yielding flesh. The discoloration.

Cada naranja es una taza de sangre

The body is an instrument which only gives off music when it is used as a body.

Electric flesh-arrows... traversing the body. A rainbow of color strikes the eyelids. A foam of music falls over the ears. It is the gong of the orgasm.

Not every beautiful flower has a beautiful flagrant scent.

The sound of a windshield-wiper against a page of Diderot is all it took to turn it into Racinian dialogue