Quotes About Sensory

A breeze wafted through the trees and settled like a fog. It did't smell like peaches at all. It smelled, strangely, like cinnamon and cayenne pepper. It smelled like far away.

The orchard smelled thick: Scents of mud, buds, insects, and early-blooming flowers overlapped one another. Murphy had spent all her life breathing the aroma of fry grease and parking lot weeds. Squirrels darted up and down the trees, and rabbits and the occasional groundhog watched Murphy work, reminding her that the orchard was the world to them, that they'd never seen Taco Bell and would never be roadkill. It was actually comforting. It was still earth, but without the crap.

How could he convey to someone who'd never even met her the way she always smelled like rain, or how his stomach knotted up every time he saw her shake loose her hair from its braid? How could he describe how it felt when she finished his sentences, turnec the mug they were sharing so that her mouth landed where his had been? How did he explain the way they could be in a locker room, or underwater, or in the piney woods of Maine, bus as long as Em was with him, he was at home?

How one chooses to address imperial duress depends in part on where and among whom it is sought, how it is imagined to manifest, the temporalities in which it is lodged, and the sensory regimes on which it weighs. As an object of inquiry, it demands that we ask how we know it and what the political consequences are of knowing in certain ways.

Half-closes her eyes — eyelids heavy with poems.

It was the blue-hour, the era of endarkenment. In the air, however, was the delicious smell of life. Possibly real, possibly delusional, came the fragrance of newly cut grass, of freshly turned damp earth, of honeysuckle at the end of summertime - things that might make a person happy, especially unexpectedly happy, and which cost little, bar the willingness, and the gratefulness, to open up and breathe.

He forced himself to sound careless, no matter that her proximity stirred his senses so powerfully. The sun flooding through the window lit rich colors in her opulent hair. Flax. Gold. Auburn.

Matthew emerged from sleep slowly, luxuriously. It must be nearly noon. He swam up from the depths of a calm warm sea. The glittering sea of the far south that he'd read about. A blue sea under a glorious sun. A sea full of pearls and exotic creatures and soft silky water. And mermaids. Indubitably there were mermaids in this sea. His particular mermaid slept naked in his arms. When he was inside her, she undulated in endless waves like a sea of pleasure.

The first stab of love is like a sunset, a blaze of color -- oranges, pearly pinks, vibrant purples...

Shine mobilizes the interstitiality between sight and feeling, visuality and textuality.

He gave the side of her head a quick lick before she squealed and ducked away from him. Tasted like Meg. Felt like puppy fuzz. Too bad he couldn't hold her down and give her a proper grooming like he used to do with Sam.

He didn't understand why everyone fussed about taking clean clothes out of a drawer. Underclothes smelled a lot more interesting after the female wore them.

Taste as you go. When you taste the food throughout the cooking process you can make adjustments as you go.

Caught between the tongue and the taste.

Geryon closed his eyes and listened to engines vibrating deep in the moon-splashed canals of his brain.

Forró volt a hang, mint egy szín belseje.

Outside the dark pink air was already hot and alive with cries.

XIII. HERAKLES' KILLING CLUB Little red dog did not see it he felt it All events carry but one

Hearing is one of the first senses to develop in a foetus-the ear has already begun to be formed in an eight-week-old foetus, and three months later is structurally complete. When we go to sleep, our perception of sound is the last sense to close off, and when we awake the first to start up again. And hearing, it's claimed, is the last sense to die at the end of life.

No one knocked on his door the next day. Nor the day after. Nor the one after that. But that didn't mean he was unaware of what was happening. Someone had carried a plate of those fucking biscuits past his room, and even the oak door had provided no barrier for the smell. Not for anything of hers.

Reading a poem in translation is like kissing a woman through a veil.

Long after you've forgotten someone's voice, you can still remember the sound of their happiness or their sadness. You can feel it in your body.

I watched her peel off the slip, The bra closed in the front like the other. Ah, my teeth clenched seeing her tighten the clasps, breasts gathered like that. The she smoothed the flesh into the cups, lifted each breast, dropped it, her fingers casual, rough. I got hard watching it. Then the panties came up stretched sheer over her pubic hair. I could see the silk seal itself over her secret lips. Little crack. Hair a dark shadow underneath.

Laughter nibbled at my lips like tiny fish in warm water.