Quotes About Sensory

Head in the book. Nose sliding down the valley between the pages.

This is a visualisation aimed at clients who need to relax. The story involves a walk along a cliff path, with sensory stimulation (sights, sounds, smells) for clients to experience in their imagination. They can leave the stresses of everyday life behind and move forward into a more relaxed existence.

Technology is the knack of so arranging the world that we do not experience it.

The opposition between acute and grave phonemes has the capacity to suggest an image of bright and dark, of pointed and rounded, of thin and thick, of light and heavy.

It's not that we have to quit this life one day, but it's how many things we have to quit all at once: music, laughter, the physics of falling leaves, automobiles, holding hands, the scent of rain, the concept of subway trains... if only one could leave this life slowly!

It's not that we have to quit this life one day, it's how many things we have to quit all at once: holding hands, hotel rooms, music, the physics of falling leaves, vanilla and jasmine, poppies, smiling, anthills, the color of the sky, coffee and cashmere, literature, sparks and subway trains... If only one could leave this life slowly!

I likened her to the slender PSYCHÉ and judged that the perfection of her face ennobled everything unclean around her: The dusty hems of her bunched-up skirt, the worn straps of her nightshirt; the blackened soles of her bare feet [...] All this and the pungent air! Ô this night, sweet pungent night! "HÉBÉ" may come but a season. But this girl's season would know a hot spring and an Indian summer.

I remember her body so miraculously Fumbling with me so delicately Fighting with me so passionately Exhausting us both so mercilessly Before sleeping beside me so languidly.

The memory of odors is very rich. Now

Shall we evoke Morocco with a rose and lilac shoe?

If I recollect, it's a mystic medley of mauves.

It all came back. Every bone in my body turned hot. Then I couldn't make it stop. All those memories. Whatever kept them stored away broke. There was a rush of sensation through me, then nothing. And for days afterward, I'd get overwhelmed with a sound or the way my shirt rubbed against my arm or a smell. Like my body remembered and reminded the rest of me.

She put out her hand and touched his forearm, as she would have touched some piece of porcelain or sculpture, just for the sheer animal pleasure of feeling its shape and curve beneath her fingertips.

She was a horse lover and she and Whitey kept a mean old paint, a fancy quarter horse/Arabian mix, a roan Appaloosa with one ghost eye named Spook, and a pony. So along with the whiskey and perfume and smoke, she often exuded faint undertones of hay, dust, and the fragrance of horse, which once you smell it you always miss it. Humans were meant to live with the horse.

Patrice leaned to one side and put her ear to the trunk of a birch tree. She could hear the humming rush of the tree drinking from the earth. She closed her eyes, went through the bark like water, and was sucked up off the bud tips into a cloud.

The warm metal, the gentle ridges, the rounded feminine base of the cap, were pleasant to hold.

For the past year, Pollux has been perfecting my favorite soup of those that saved me—it is a corn soup. First he caramelizes fresh-cut sweetcorn, toasting it slowly in a heavy pan, adding onions. Then cubed potatoes tossed lightly in butter, to set a crisp. He adds all of this to a garlicky chicken broth with shaved carrots, cannellini beans, fresh dill, parsley, a dash of cayenne, and heavy cream. The scent was making me delirious. Still.

Bad smells made her angry, they were a personal affront.

There were so many sensations in his body that he couldn't feel them all at once, and each, as soon as he felt it, slipped away into the past.

Beauty is like drink or comfort, once you get used to it, you stop paying attention.

Nothing brings memories to the surface like smells and flames.

People, countries, and objects all end up as smells.

The mother sensed her daughter's animal superiority and instinctively condemned it out of hand, the unforgettable depth of her fucking, her way of coming like a continent!

I love bright red drinks, don't you? They taste twice as good as any other color.