Quotes About Sensations

Father says hot water can be as stimulating as an alcoholic drink and though I never come by one...I can well believe it.

Te lo ricordi com'era, sudare sotto le coperte, da bambini? La febbre è una cosa segreta. È come cadere in un buco dove nessuno può seguirti, ma non provi né paura né dolore perché non ti senti neanche te stesso. Io adoro raggomitolarmi nel sudore.

I was wide awake, and yet part of me was so glassed-off and numb I was practically in a coma.

psychology—that life is an array of constantly changing sensations, some of them pleasant, some of them unpleasant, and some of them neutral. Our unconscious response is to grasp after the pleasant and to try to resist the unpleasant, so that we are always at war with the basic transience of our experience. We cannot really come to rest with things as they arise and depart.

Feels like a long time ago, but not so far in the past that I don't remember the way that Chicago cold slipped past your bones, I swear. That wind coming off the water? What?!

Immortality is here and now, and is not a speculative something beyond the grave. It is a lucid state of consciousness in which the sensations of the body, the varying and unrestful states of mind, and the circumstances and events of life are seen to be of a fleeting and therefore of an illusory character.

Learning to pay attention to how your body feels can offer you rich guidance about your choices and direction in life.

Connie threw back her head, opened her mouth and cried to the heavens, as every sensation built and exploded inside her, fireworks and waterfalls, starburst and throbbing heat.

It was almost like fear, in the way it filled me, rising in my chest. It was almost like tears, in how swiftly it came. But it was neither of those, buoyant where they were heavy, bright were they dull.

God, I think I just hit a high E-flat - and I really held it! Esmeralda said, after one of her more prolonged orgasms, but my ears were warm and sweaty, and my head had been held so tightly between her thighs that I hadn't heard anything.

O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!

As I walked briskly out the road the wind knifed at my face, but this sun caressed the back of my neck.

Damasio and Bechara developed their 'Somatic Marker Hypothesis'. According to this hypothesis, each event we store in memory comes bookmarked with the bodily sensations – Damasio and Bechara call these 'somatic markers' – we felt at the time of living through it for the first time; and these help us decide what to do when we find ourselves in a similar situation.

Emotion is primarily about nothing and much of it remains about nothing to the end.

There is nothing like wine for conjuring up feelings of contentment and goodwill. It is less of a drink than an experience, an evocation, a spirit. It produces sensations that defy description.

Falling in love is a completely transcendent experience. It's like eating pizza-flavored ice cream

We live not only in a world of thoughts, but also in a world of things. Words without experience are meaningless.

Everything was new, now I'm a junkie, I seem to need more severe doses of experience to feel anything.

We live inside our mind. That's all there is. Everything that you experience is not external, it's internal. All your experiences are predicated upon your awareness field.

The best things in life are unseen. So we close our eyes when we kiss, sleep and dream.

This morning he had leapt onto my bed and pressed his nose against mine. "Good morning," he'd said. I remembered the heat of him against my skin.

If I were today on my deathbed, I would name my love of the color blue and making love with you as two of the sweetest sensations I knew on this earth.

The gown rustles and slides around her, speaking a glossolalia all of its own, the silk moving against the rougher nap of the underskirts, the bone supports of the bodice straining and squealing against their coverings, the cuffs scuffing and chafing the skin of her wrists, the stiffened collar hooking and nibbling at her nape, the hip supports creaking like the rigging of a ship. It is a symphony, an orchestra of fabrics, and Lucrezia would like to cover her ears, but she cannot.

And there is a soreness to her body, it aches, her head feels softened, muzzy. She has acquired a disturbingly acute sense of smell. The odour of print from a magazine someone is reading across a room can oppress her. She knows what will be on their plates at lunch just from sniffing the air. She can walk down the middle of the ward and can tell who has bathed this week and who has not.