sensory connection Quotes

There is relationship between sight and touch, something about eyes being able to see through the fingers touching the clay, about fingers being able to feel what the eyes are seeing without the fingers actually touching it.

I had learned how it felt to want more than the sweet touch of hand to cheek or lips to palm, more than a kiss, more than an embrace. I was starting to discover that it is not only the mind that understands love, but also the body.

A book has got to smell. You have to hold it in your hands and pray to it.

Scent is the strongest tie to memory.

Her heart was pounding impossibly fast. Then she realized She was feeling both of their hearts, racing each other. A kind of desperate conversation, one they couldn't have with words.

Perfumes, colours and sounds echo one another.

When I think of flavours, I think colour, so lemon should be yellow and orange is orange.

In a car you're always in a compartment, and because you're used to it you don't realize that through that car window everything you see is just more TV. You're a passive observer and it is all moving by you boringly in a frame. On a cycle the frame is gone. You're completely in contact with it all. You're in the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming.

Rhythm, that's an essential part of cooking. The sound of a lovely song and the smell of some dish in the oven are equally evocative.

Smells could bring a person back clearer than pictures even could.

A song to me is a very tangible thing. I can feel it with my hands and see it with my eyes.

Yes, we should not forget that the five senses are one. And all of them extensions of the skin

We read each other through our eyes, and anatomically they are an extension of our brains. When we catch someone's eye, we look into a mind.

He just seems as cool as ever. I can smell him. Even on the other side, there is smell. Like, when babies are born, there's two smells-one is chicken soup, which is the flesh, and the other is lilacs, which is coming from the spiritual garden. The spirit has a lilac smell.

My soul travels on the smell of perfume like the souls of other men on music.

She felt him tremble with the force of his need. He spoke just beneath her ear, his voice thick with tormented pleasure. "You have to leave, Sara ... because I want to hold you like this until your skin melts into mine. I want you in my bed, the smell of you on my sheets, your hair spread across my pillow. I want to take your innocence. God! I want to ruin you for anyone else.

To write tragedy, a man must feel tragedy. To feel tragedy, a man must be aware of the world in which he lives. Not only with his mind, but with his blood and sinews.

I think music is what takes the experience off the screen into your soul, into your head.

Poetry, which is our relation to the senses, enables us to retain a living relationship to all things. It is the quickest means of transportation to reach dimensions above or beyond the traps set by the so-called realists. It is a way to learn levitation and travel in liberated continents, to travel by moonlight as well as sunlight.

It's not like I see colours. It's just, for me, an incredibly strong association between music and colour.

I'll see you later, he says, and as he does, he runs his finger briefly over my wrist. It passes over me like air, and makes me shiver like a kiss.

Smell is a strange sight. It evokes sentimental landscapes through a sudden sketching of the subconscious.

It is strange how deeply colours seem to penetrate one, like scent.

I think passion in a physical way goes hand in hand with taste and smell.

The alcohol smell is on my fingers, cold and remote, piercing like a steel pin going in. It smells like white enamel basins. When I look up at the stars in the nighttime, cold and white and sharp, I think they must smell like that.