Tactile Sensitivity Quotes

My left hand is my thinking hand. The right is only a motor hand. This holds the hammer. The left hand, the thinking hand, must be relaxed, sensitive. The rhythms of thought pass through the fingers and grip of this hand into the stone.

The hands of those I meet are dumbly eloquent to me. The touch of some hands is an impertinence. I have met people so empty of joy, that when I clasped their frosty finger-tips, it seemed as if I were shaking hands with a northeast storm.

I, who cannot see, find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough shaggy bark of a pine.

I'm very tactile. I'm a big hugger, one of those huggy people.

I've done work wearing full cold-weather gear hanging off of scientific towers in the Antarctic and the Arctic. Having to actually do small, delicate tasks on scientific equipment while you have no dexterity or tactile feedback is something that's very transferrable.

The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.

As soon as you know a man to be blind, you imagine that you can see it from his back.

True gardeners cannot bear a glove Between the sure touch and the tender root.

The first thing I do when I'm shopping is touch everything to see if it's itchy. I remember my mom used to put me in the itchiest clothes ever, and I was traumatized by it, so I won't wear anything itchy now.

It hurt to even bump into him.

I crossed the room, and what you did was to feel my hair over and over again and in different ways, touch it, with the palm of your hand... felt it, strands of hair, with your fingers, touched it as if it were cloth, the way a child touches its favorite surfaces.

A pinch is a pinch. If you pinch my right nipple, I'm going to say, 'ouch.' If I pinch your right nipple, you're going to say 'ouch.' A foul is a foul and a flagrant is a flagrant.

Before sight and sound hijacked our attention, we shared with all life a sort of common sense, a chemical sense that depended on direct contact with matter in the water or the air.

I sometimes wonder if the hand is not more sensitive to the beauties of sculpture than the eye. I should think the wonderful rhythmical flow of lines and curves could be more subtly felt than seen. Be this as it may, I know that I can feel the heart-throbs of the ancient Greeks in their marble gods and goddesses.

When you're writing, you're only a brain and some fingers, but drumming, you're involving all four limbs, and you're hearing stuff and you're converting your ideas into physical motions, getting physical feedback from things you are touching - it's pretty cool. It's a really a nice contrast to writing.

You can really get poked in the back and not feel it very much, but just a feather around your lips and you really do feel it.

If I hold her hand she says, ‘Don’t touch!’ If I hold her foot she says ‘Don’t touch!’ But when I hold her waist-beads she pretends not to know.

When Jack Burns needed to hold his mother's hand, his fingers could see in the dark.

I hate having my feet touching stuff. And I've been finding people that have the same thing. It's not a phobia; it just gives me goose bumps.

Take hold of objects by their centres, not by their lines of contour... The contour accentuated uniformly and beyond proportion, destroys plasticity, bringing forward those parts of an object which are always most distant from the eye - namely its outlines.

One of the big areas I'd like to see a lot more research done on is the sensory problems, and it's real variable. One kid's got sound sensitivity; another one can't tolerate fluorescent lights. I can't stand scratchy clothes.

I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch.

Hearing is a form of touch. I could hear less through the ears but more through the body.

Not being able to touch is sometimes as interesting as being able to touch.