Quotes About Senses

as the eye is the best composer, so light is the first of painters. There is no object so foul that intense light will not make beautiful. And the stimulus it affords to the sense, and a sort of infinitude which it hath, like space and time, make all matter gay. Even the corpse has its own beauty.

Life is comic or pitiful as soon as the high ends of being fade out of sight, and man becomes near-sighted, and can only attend to what addresses the senses.

Kant insisted that the mind has access to preexisting concepts and ideas, which enable us to process the information gathered by our senses. Kant called these preexisting concepts "transcendental forms." Through them, we come to knowledge by intuition, even apart from experience.

When nature awakens our wonder and curiosity, we become scholars. This is the beginning of education. Through our senses, nature impresses herself on our minds. Her splendors shine forth everywhere we turn—from the largest masses to the tiniest particles. Then our mind begins to classify all that we survey, turning nature into organized knowledge.

En síntesis, los indicios de la verdad se revelan mediante todos los sentidos. Dios es el guardián de la razón y nos invita a verificar la consistencia de la Biblia con la realidad y a comprobar la coherencia de sus aseveraciones. Además, nuestra experiencia diaria confirma esas verdades en la realidad concreta. Nuestro mayor privilegio es conocer a Dios y vivir conforme a la verdad. Esto suscita una coherencia interna en nosotros.

Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don't they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.

Why love the woman who is your wife? Her nose breathes in the air of a world that I know; therefore I love that nose. Her ears hear music I might sing half the night through; therefore I love her ears. Her eyes delight in seasons of the land; and so I love those eyes. Her tongue knows quince, peach, chokeberry, mint and lime; I love to hear it speaking. Because her flesh knows heat, cold, affliction, I know fire, snow, and pain. Shared and once again shared experience.

Way out in the country tonight he could smell the pumpkins ripening toward the knife and the triangle eye and the singeing candle.

And some days, he went on, were days of hearing every trump and trill of the universe. Some days were good for tasting and some for touching. And some days were good for all the senses at once. This day now, he nodded, smelled as if a great and nameless orchard had grown up overnight beyond the hills to fill the entire visible land with its warm freshness. The air felt like rain, but there were no clouds.

Poetry expands the senses and keeps them in prime condition. It keeps you aware of your nose, your eye, your ear, your tongue, your hand.

How long he stood he did not know, but there was a foolish and yet delicious sense of knowing himself as an animal come from the forest, drawn by the fire. He was a thing of brush and liquid eye, of fur and muzzle and hoof, he was a thing of horn and blood that would smell like autumn if you bled it out on the ground. He stood a long time, listening to the warm crackle of the flames.

Shared and once again shared experience. Billions of prickling textures. Cut one sense away, cut part of life away. Cut two senses; life halves itself on the instant. We love what we know, we love what we are. Common cause, common cause, common cause of mouth, eye, ear, tongue, hand, nose, flesh, heart, and soul.

Similarly, in a lifetime, we stuff ourselves with sounds, sights, smells, tastes, and textures of people, animals, landscapes, events, large and small. We stuff ourselves with these impressions and experiences and our reaction to them. Into our subconscious go not only factual data but reactive data, our movement toward or away from the sensed events. These are the stuffs, the foods, on which The Muse grows.

Read poetry every day of your life. Poetry is good because it flexes muscles you don't use often enough. Poetry expands the senses and keeps them in prime condition.

He was a thing of brush and liquid eye, of fur and muzzle and hoof, he was a thing of horn and blood that would smell like autumn if you bled it out on the ground.

In your reading, find books to improve your color sense, your sense of shape and size in the world. Why not learn about the senses of smell and hearing? Your characters must sometimes use their noses and ears or they may miss half the smells and sounds of the city, and all of the sounds of the wilderness still loose in the trees and on the lawns of the city.

Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don't they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.

Faber sniffed the book. Do you know that books smell like nutmeg or some spice from a foreign land?

Everything is inconceivable. The whole world is inconceivable to the strict logic of ideas. And yet the world exists to our senses, and we exist in it. There must be a necessity superior to our conceptions.

God wants His people to walk in wisdom so they don't have to fall into misery and pain before they come to their senses, which may sometimes come too late. It is better to live wisely and not need continuous miracles, than to live foolishly and always need a miracle to get out of trouble.

The poet makes himself into a visionary by a long derangement of all the senses.

When she stopped short just at the lower line of the apple tress, and stood for a moment with her face lifted, I chalked one up in her favor. I had stopped my chair at the exact place, coming out, because right there the spice of wisteria that hung around the house was invaded by the freshness of apple blossoms in a blend that lifted the top of my head. As between those who notice such things and those who don't, I prefer those who do.

can hear the waters of the Dordelle chuckling against the hull of our boat, see the silver moonlight glow on the rim of our little window, taste the warm night air. Your lilac scent floats in my senses. By the light of the moon I can see your open eyes, fixed on the dark corner of my cabin, but in truth staring into your future. For you are beginning a new life, a life apart from everything you knew, and you are anxious on that account. I would help you

He is the true enchanter, whose spell operates, not upon the senses, but upon the imagination and the heart.