sensation

I was overpowered by the mere sensation of that dream and it alone survived in my sorely wounded heart.

Consider the capacity of the human body for pleasure. Sometimes, it is pleasant to eat, to drink, to see, to touch, to smell, to hear, to make love. The mouth. The eyes. The fingertips, The nose. The ears. The genitals. Our voluptific faculties (if you will forgive me the coinage) are not exclusively concentrated here. The whole body is susceptible to pleasure, but in places there are wells from which it may be drawn up in greater quantity. But not inexhaustibly. How long is it possible to know pleasure? Rich Romans ate to satiety, and then purged their overburdened bellies and ate again. But they could not eat for ever. A rose is sweet, but the nose becomes habituated to its scent. And what of the most intense pleasures, the personality-annihilating ecstasies of sex? I am no longer a young man; even if I chose to discard my celibacy I would surely have lost my stamina, re-erecting in half-hours where once it was minutes. And yet if youth were restored to me fully, and I engaged again in what was once my greatest delight _ to be fellated at stool by nymphet with mouth still blood-heavy from the necessary precautions _ what then? What if my supply of anodontic premenstruals were never-ending, what then? Surely, in time, I should sicken of it.__ven if I were a woman, and could string orgasm on orgasm like beads on a necklace, in time I should sicken of it. Do you think Messalina, in that competition of hers with a courtesan, knew pleasure as much on the first occasion as the last? Impossible.__et consider.__onsider pain.__ive me a cubic centimeter of your flesh and I could give you pain that would swallow you as the ocean swallows a grain of salt. And you would always be ripe for it, from before the time of your birth to the moment of your death, we are always in season for the embrace of pain. To experience pain requires no intelligence, no maturity, no wisdom, no slow working of the hormones in the moist midnight of our innards. We are always ripe for it. All life is ripe for it. Always.

[T]he astonishing purity of pain, how it will not be mixed with any other sensation.

Move deep in your sensation, and you will realize the spirit in the body. Your life is possible only because of the spirit. The spirit is your power in the body.

For the first time in his life, Mont Blanc for a moment looked to him what it was - a chaos of anarchic and purposeless forces - and he needed days of repose to see it clothe itself again with the illusions of his senses, the white purity of its snows, the splendor of its light, and the infinity of its heavenly peace. Nature was kind; Lake Geneva was beautiful beyond itself, and the Alps put on charms real as terrors.

The more you remain aware with all the internal and external changes of life, more you allow yourself to move deeper towards the source.

But now I want to say things that comfort me and that are a little free. For example: Thursdat is a day transparent as an insect's wing in the light. Just as Monday is a compact day. Ultimately, far beyond thought, I live from these ideas, if ideas is what they are. They are sensations that transform into ideas because I must use words. Even just using them mentally. The primary thought thinks with words.

Close your eyes and turn your face into the wind.Feel it sweep along your skin in an invisible ocean of exult

She felt him smile against her neck and bit down, the sensation sending shivers through her. __ad girl. If you keep doing that, I__l have you stripped and on your back before you can blink.

Isn__ that wonderful? That feeling of not knowing too much about something_ Incomplete information_ Endless possibilities_ When you don__ know much about something, it__ the most exciting sensation.-Kutsnetz in TALUS

Everything that happens where we live happens in us. Everything that ceases in what we see ceases in us. Everything that has been, if we saw it when it was, was taken from us when it went away.

What can I expect from myself? My sensation in all their horrible acuity, and a profound awareness of feeling. A sharp mind that only destroys me, and an unusual capacity for dreaming to keep me entertained. A dead will and a reflection that cradles it, like a living child.

I__ already said too much, giving my hand away. Yet I found myself lost on an island of need, peering through a telescope, searching for that one blinking light to let me know when a ship was approaching. She was that ship destined to save me_ or wreck me. I could feel fate sinking in her claws. No woman had ever made me want the way.

Reagan, I pledge to you my trust and loyalty. You are it for me, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness or in heath. You have my vow that in all things, I will love you unconditionally. Know that you and whatever kids we have will come first in my life. It will be my goal to keep you and our children happy for the rest of my life.

Let it shine, the light in you. Oh, and that's delighting me! Various colors shining through. Elated, it fills my soul with ecstasy.

But because of you, I learned to love and not fear. Because of you, I can be loved and not be tormented. Because of you, I feel like a woman and not a victim.

the sensations she was asking about were very pleasant; some of them were nothing short of delicious; but to know them one simply had to go barefoot. I could sense a mixture of envy and fearful reserve. It was time to tell her what another barefoot hiker had once told me, when I had stood, still shod, on the edge of wanting to go barefoot: "Take off your shoes.

What is this thing of intangible substance that wreaks consequential havoc on our lives? What is this sensitive thread that runs through heart and mind, and when given the slightest tremor grasps hold of all sanity, dragging the afflicted down to insufferable depths or flinging him weightless to euphoric heights? What is this magic we would deem imagination, fantasy, or pretend if not for the evidence of power manifest by human consequences? Effortlessly controlling us, it affects the infected in an instant. It takes but one word, one thought, one act to become immersed. To stop it is hopeless. To stifle it, demanding. To think to master it is both improbable and pretentious. What is this invisible hand that blinds our eyes and reigns hearts with a string? It is nature's drug and poison we call emotion.