Quotes About Sensations

Drei deiner Finger kitzelten mich kurz, mitten am Bauch, dort, wo die Schmetterlinge leben.

There are some people who eat an orange but don't really eat it. They eat their sorrow, fear, anger, past, and future.

The secret which that confession discloses should be told with little effort, for it has indirectly escaped me already. The poor weak words, which have failed to describe Miss Fairlie, have succeeded in betraying the sensations she awakened in me. It is so with us all. Our words are giants when they do us an injury, and dwarfs when they do us a service. I loved her.

If merely 'feeling good' could decide, drunkenness would be the supremely valid human experience.

Moreover, something is or seems       That touches me with mystic gleams,       Like glimpses of forgotten dreams—      Of something felt, like something here;       Of something done, I know not where;       Such as no language may declare.[228]

prickling of the skin, sixth and seventh senses ringing dully like psychic tinnitus.

Sour, sweet, bitter, pungent, all must be tasted.

What's indisputable is that when we assess our experiences, we don't average our minute-by-minute sensations. Rather, we tend to remember flagship moments: the peaks, the pits, and the transitions.

The truth is, when I'm immersed in a book I'm less aware of the pain in my unpredictable arms and legs.

Dark came to rest on my eyelids; strange and painful pennies.

Laughter has no greater foe than emotion…. To produce the whole of its effect, then, the comic demands something like a momentary anesthesia of the heart.

Matter and mind have this in common, that certain superficial agitations of matter are expressed in our minds, superficially, in the form of sensations; and on the other hand, the mind, in order to act upon the body, must descend little by little toward matter and become spatialized. It follows that the intelligence, although turned toward external things, can still be exerted on things internal, provided that it does not claim to plunge too deeply.

Le bonheur est comme l'été : il n'irradie pas. Rien à attendre de son souvenir pour les jours où nous aurons froid. - Il y a des sensations qui écrivent en lettres ineffaçables. Le bonheur écrit blanc.

The feelings resembled memories; but memories of what? Apparently one can remember things that have never happened.

your consciousness of existence is derived from the conjunction of all your sensations, that that consciousness of existence is the result of your sensations.

assuming there are no sensations, it follows that there is no idea of existence.

Unable to create a meaningful life for itself, the personality takes its own revenge: from the lower depths comes a regressive form of spontaneity: raw animality forms a counterpoise to the meaningless stimuli and the vicarious life to which the ordinary man is conditioned. Getting spiritual nourishment from this chaos of events, sensations, and devious interpretations is the equivalent of trying to pick through a garbage pile for food.

It is only at a high stage of individuation, made possible at first by the painted or carved image, the written symbol, and the printed book, that true freedom-the freedom to escape from the passing moment and the present visible place, to challenge past experience or modify future action-can be achieved. To be aware only of immediate stimuli and immediate sensations is a medical indication of brain injury.

What is modern art but the attempt to pinpoint vague, incorporeal, inexpressible sensations? What is modern art, I would add, but the most solemn pile of nonsense that ever appeared on Earth?

My eyes feel all soft, all soft as flesh. I'm going to sleep.

Existo. Es algo tan dulce, tan dulce, tan lento. Y leve; como si se mantuviera solo en el aire. Se mueve. Por todas partes, roces que caen y se desvanecen. Muy suave, muy suave

J'existe. C'est doux, si doux, si lent. Et léger: on dirait que ça tient en l'air tout seul. Ça remue. Ce sont des effleurements partout qui fondent et s'évanouissent. Tout doux, tout doux.

Lola was beside him , soft and very warm, and Boris could not bring himself to utter the slightest word, his voice was dead. 'Just as though I were dumb.' It was delicious, his voice was floating at the far end of his throat, soft as cotton, and could not emerge, for it was dead.

Engem nem a tények érdekelnek, Domino, hanem az, hogy hogyan érzek. Az, ahogy akkor érezni fogok, más lesz; arra akarok emlékezni, ahogy most érzek.