Sense it sinking into you.

Your breath touched my soul and I saw beyond all limits.

You can tell you’re alive when somebody touches you back.

I want to fill every part of you, breathe the air from your lungs and leave my handprints on your soul. I want to give you more pleasure than you can bear.

No importa cuán despierto hayas sido, una vez te adentras en las sombras de esta región ya no puedes permanecer ajeno a su influjo; la ensoñación mágica de su atmósfera se apodera de ti al instante;

You entered my aura and fell into my arms. I just wrapped around you like a snake that's been charmed.

We saw Earth’s breath.

She touched you twice,' he said in a little while. 'The first touch was to bring you to life again, but the second was for you.

The most holy, the most sacred, the most God-like being you have ever physically touched, is the ground beneath your feet.

I curled into the great wall of you, which was still not ordinary, still fragrant with your new exotic familiarity...

If you touch one thing with deep awareness, you touch everything.

Quite simply, I was in love with New York. I do not mean “love” in any colloquial way, I mean that I was in love with the city, the way you love the first person who ever touches you and you never love anyone quite that way again. I remember walking across Sixty-second Street one twilight that first spring, or the second spring, they were all alike for a while. I was late to meet someone but I stopped at Lexington Avenue and bought a peach and stood on the corner eating it and knew that I had come out out of the West and reached the mirage. I could taste the peach and feel the soft air blowing from a subway grating on my legs and I could smell lilac and garbage and expensive perfume and I knew that it would cost something sooner or later – because I did not belong there, did not come from there – but when you are twenty-two or twenty-three, you figure that later you will have a high emotional balance, and be able to pay whatever it costs. I still believed in possibilities then, still had the sense, so peculiar to New York, that something extraordinary would happen any minute, any day, any month.

Walking into the crowd was like sinking into a stew - you became an ingredient, you took on a certain flavour.

It’s a sensation I’ve come to love as I’ve traveled more, the way a new place signals itself instantly and without pretense. The air has a different weight from what you’re used to; it carries smells you can’t quite identify, a faint whiff of wood smoke or diesel fuel, maybe, or the sweetness of something blooming in the trees. The same sun comes up, but looking slightly different from what you know.