Quotes About Sensations

I feel the stars. Each sparkle sets aflame the pain in my heart.

The fall air pokes Konrad like the needles of evergreens. He feels snappish and half wild.

All sanity depends on this: that it should be a delight to feel heat strike the skin, a delight to stand upright, knowing the bones are moving easily under the flesh.

Another of the great virtues of curiosity is that, in sexual exploration, we can become those children we once were, delightedly exploring how this feels, how that feels, giggling and writhing, asking how does my body work, how does your body work? We can unbridle our curiosity. Get silly with it. Play.

I would define qualia as subjective experiences, sensations," he replied, "that only conscious entities seem to be able to have. How a thing seems. How it feels. How it affects a consciousness emotionally and spiritually. The pain of a toothache. The beauty of a sunset. The taste of wine.

If you've never eaten while crying you don t know what life tastes like.

I stretch my fingers across my belly and glide my hand back and forth, waving softly. Sometimes I think I feel a hand reaching out for mine. Or it could be a foot, kicking my hand away. I wish I could tell the difference.

My nipples hardened (traitorous little bitches) and my eyes widened.

Es mentira que sepan a vinagre los besos sin amor.

Giles kissed her again, hard and furious. As if he hated her. He'd been in love for years, yet he'd never realized love could be like this. Like someone struck him with a club over and over again. Like fire devouring him. Sweet and terrible. Painful and fierce.

Sometimes, when you go on foot there, when you walk in the woods near the old pagan temples, you feel something very strong. It is like the energy you feel in a church, or the energy you feel when a boy and a girl are in love and touch hands for the first time.

I don't want the body,* she whimpered. *It hurts.* *Not always, sweetheart. Not always. Without the body, how will you hear a bird's song? How will you feel a warm summer rain on your skin? How will you taste nutcakes? How will you walk on a beach at sunset and feel the sand and surf under your... hooves?*

In Geryon's autobiography this page has a photograph of some red rabbit giggle tied with a white ribbon. He has titled it "Jealous of My Little Sensations.

Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen nor even touched, but just felt in the heart.

It is not proper to project our feelings onto things or to attribute our own sensations and passions to them. Can it also be improper to see in them a guide, a way of life?

I want to live like music sounds.- Ruth

Their hands touched for an instant, but neither spoke. Silences were becoming more frequent and more delicious.

the painful intensity of my sensations, even when they're happy ones; the blissful intensity of my sensations, even when they're sad.

That is my morality or my metaphysics or me myself: a passer-by in everything, even my own soul. I belong to nothing, I desire nothing, I am nothing except an abstract centre of impersonal sensations, a sentient mirror fallen from the wall but still turned to reflect the diversity of the world.

There are dreamed anguishes that are more real Than the ones life brings us, there are sensations Felt only by imagining Which are more ours than our own life is. There's so often a thing which, not existing, Does exist, exists lingeringly And lingeringly is ours and us…

Life is what we conceive it to be. For the farmer who considers his field to be everything, the field is an empire. For a Caesar whose empire is still not enough, the empire is a field. The poor man who possesses an empire, the great man a field. All that we truly possess are our own sensations; it is in them, rather than in what they sense, that we must base our life's reality. This has nothing to do with anything.

I abhor running real risks, but it's not because I'm afraid of feeling too intensely. It's because they break my perfect focus on my sensations, and this disturbs and depersonalizes me. I never go where there's risk. I fear the tedium of dangers.

Isn't love at least a means of possessing ourselves through our sensations? Isn't it at least a way of dreaming vividly, and therefore more gloriously, the dream that we exist?