Quotes About Sensations

It seems as though the goal of my work has always been to dissolve myself completely into the sensations of the surroundings in order to then integrate this into a coherent painterly form.

Voilà Dvora, je sens des abeilles dans mon sang, un ours dans mon cÅ"ur, chaque battement est une patte qui démolit la ruche. Elle me donne sa main et moi je sais que je ne la lui rendrai plus.

Mi accorgevo del corpo, del suo interno, accanto a lei: del battito del sangue a fior di polso, del rumore dell'aria nel naso, del traffico della macchina cuorepolmoni. Accanto al suo corpo esploravo il mio, calato nell'interno, sbatacchiato come il secchio nel pozzo.

The scientific picture of the real world around me is deficient. It gives a lot of factual information, puts all our experience in a magnificently consistent order. But it is ghastly silent about all and sundry that is really near to our heart, that really matters to us. It cannot tell us a word about red and blue, bitter and sweet, physical pain and physical delight; it knows nothing of beautiful and ugly, good or bad, God and eternity.

Through such nerve pathways, the emotion we call fear and the emotion we call love get translated into the physical sensations we associate with these feelings.

It is altogether reasonable to conclude that the heavenly bodies, alias worlds, which move or are situate within the circle of our knowledge, as well all others throughout immensity, are each and every one of them possessed or inhabited by some intelligent agents or other, however different their sensations or manners of receiving or communicating their ideas may be from ours, or however different from each other.

I have never experienced another human being. I have experienced my impressions of them.

When you hear a romantic song, the feeling is incomparable.

I pass from state to state. I am warm or cold, I am merry or sad, I work or I do nothing, I look at what is around me or I think of something else. Sensations, feelings, volitions, ideas -- such are the changes into which my existence is divided and which color it in turns. I change, then, without ceasing.

Did men but consider that the sun, moon, and stars, and every other object of the senses, are only so many sensations in their minds, which have no other existence but barely being perceived, doubtless they would never fall down and worship their own ideas; but rather address their homage to that eternal invisible Mind which produces and sustains all things.

He who is incapable of feeling strong passions, of being shaken by anger, of living in every sense of the word, will never be a good actor.

Our love was sweet and tart like lemonade on a sun-scorched day or the sweat that runs down your lover's face. It was bittersweet, more bitter than sweet.

One's feelings of pleasure, pain or equanimity are known to him as they arise, known to him as they are present, and known to him as they subside; his perceptions are known to him as they arise, known to him as they are present, and known to him as they subside; his thoughts are known to him as they arise, known to him as they are present, and known to him as they subside.

Can one ever experience pleasure that is not attached to an object? Pure pleasure? [...] Well, one can say, a piece of music gave you pleasure. or seeing a handsome face, or smelling something delicious. But can pleasure be independent of any influences?

when we visit a new place or try a new activity—time seems to slow down, experiences seem more vivid, and our emotional responses are more intense. That's why a week on vacation seems longer and more memorable than a month at home.

Iced champagne was poured out. Emma shivered all over as she felt it cold in her mouth. She had never seen pomegranates nor tasted pine-apples. The powdered sugar even seemed to her whiter and finer than elsewhere.

Il sentait vaguement des pensées lui venir ; il les aurait dites, peut-être, mais il ne les pouvait point formuler avec des mots écrits. Et son impuissance l'enfiévrant, il se leva de nouveau, les mains humides de sueur et le sang battant aux tempes.

La jeune fille se retrouvait dans ces histoires d'autrefois, s'étonnant de la similitude de leurs pensées, de la parenté de leurs désirs ; car chaque cÅ"ur s'imagine ainsi avoir tressailli avant tout autre sous une foule de sensations qui ont fait battre ceux des premières créatures et feront palpiter encore ceux des derniers hommes et des dernières femmes.

Doors banged somewhere; the elevated trains roared intermittently; a cat yowled miserably upon a back fence. And he breathed the breath of the house—a dank savor rather than a smell—a cold, musty effluvium as from underground vaults mingled with the reeking exhalations of linoleum and mildewed and rotten woodwork.

They were heading into the wooded areas of the mountains. The elevation was causing Adam's ears to clog up.

In a world where so much happens through computer screens, making a meal by hand, touching the raw materials, feeling your way through a recipe, tasting, adjusting, engaging all the senses, can be a soothing release.

To awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world.

Our religious belief usurps the place of our sensations, our imaginations of our judgment. We no longer look to actions, trace their consequences, and then deduce the rule; we first make the rule, and then, right or wrong, force the action to square with it.

The one who travels like a lover searching for a new passion is suddenly blessed with new eyes, new ears, new senses.