Quotes About Sensory

In this state, drugged by the rainy dusk, she almost always returned with sensual closeness to seaside childhood; once more she felt her heels in the pudding-softness of the hot tarred esplanade or her bare arm up to the elbow in rain-wet tamarisk. She smelt the shingle and heard it being sucked by the sea.

He couldn't stop smelling the air in great, deep, loud sniffs. It was so delicious. It smelled of water, and mud, and maple trees, and autumn.

The scent of a flower is a very close and intimate thing, she thought. It can seem to be a part of your body and blood.

And then he only had eyes for the pie. Watch any man, he could be ninety years old and drooling spit, but at the sight of homemade pie every last one of his wits will spring to attention.

I ran my finger over the text, then held the book up to my face, closed my eyes, and inhaled the sweet-sour scent of old paper and binding glue. Did everyone who loved books do this when they encountered a new one?

I don't know whether you know this, but there are people in the world with a very odd gift, one that looks like crossed wires. These people firmly believe that every number has a color, and every sound a shape...

And how could anyone consent to give up the smell of open books, old or new?

I like to hold the chunk of remaining book as I read; I like to feel it diminish.

he rode with the window partly open because he loved the smell of the pines and the heavy salt air, and in the winter he loved the smell of the cold.

If she was up at the cash register and he was behind his counter, he could still feel the invisible presence of her against him <...> —their inner selves brushing up against the other.

I have bathed in the PoemOf the Sea…Devouring the green azures.

Those fine september nights, when the dew dropped On my face and I licked it to get drunk.

Your strawberry-raspberry taste, your flowery flesh

The influence of the sensory equipment with which we observe, and the intellectual equipment with which we formulate the results of observation as knowledge, is so far reaching that by itself it decides the number of particles into which matter in the universe appears to be divided.

Irremediablemente, él nota el regusto de melancolía. De pronto los recuerdos acuden atropellándose: palabras breves como gemidos deslizándose por una piel desnuda, escorzo de líneas largas y suaves reflejadas sobre un espejo que multiplicaba el gris de afuera, en el contraluz plomizo de una ventana que, como un cuadro francés de primeros de siglo, enmarcaba palmeras mojadas, mar y lluvia.

I'm living under water. Everything seems slow and far away. I know there's a world up there, a sunlit quick world where time runs like dry sand through an hourglass, but down here, where I am, air and sound and time and feeling are thick and dense.

Av - att vara till; att känna min syn försvagad av ett öga, min hörsel förslöad av ett öra, och min tanke, min luftiga ljusa tanke bunden i fettslyngors labyrinter. Du har ju sett en hjärna... vilka krokvägar, vilka krypvägar...

We were feeling something they never had—a physical link into the world of the fictional—through the skeletal muscles of the arm to the joystick to the tiny person on the screen, a person in an imagined world. It was crude but real.

What she remembers now is not so much happiness as places where happiness occurred. Happiness was intangible, place made it visible.

A novel is not an allegory, I said as the period was about to come to an end. It is the sensual experience of another world. If you don't enter that world, hold your breath with the characters and become involved in their destiny, you won't be able to empathize, and empathy is at the heart of the novel. This is how you read a novel: you inhale the experience. So start breathing.

Normally, the mind involuntarily superimposes a sense of solidity on our perceptions of visual objects, even though the eyes are not designed to detect this tactile characteristic.

A piece of music is an experience to be taken by itself.

His gaze locked with hers as he leaned into her, his mouth finding hers. She tasted the saltiness of her tears and the cold scent of the winter day on his lips.

Avirati: This is the tremendous craving for sensory objects after they have been consciously abandoned, which is so hard to restrain. Without being attached to the objects of sense, the yogi learns to enjoy them with the aid of the senses which are completely under his control. By the practice of pratyahara he wins freedom from attachment and emancipation from desire and becomes content and tranquil.