Quotes from Jan Moran

What a beautiful woman. She moved with grace, she was entirely feminine, and yet, she possessed incredible inner strength. She's a survivor.

He caught his breath, not because of her bedraggled appearance, but rather because of the way she stood, so straight and tall. Courageous.

Her every movement transfixed him; she was graceful and refined. She'd become a woman. An elegant woman.

Until then we must carry on and have courage.

Even in her casual white shirt and cotton pants, she was clearly an independent woman in charge of her destiny. She was so… He paused, searching for words. So sophisticated, so self-assured.

Over endless crystalline waves travelled the sparkling scent of triumph, of limitless possibilities, of strength and inspiration.

The empress of the perfumer's palette, jasmine must be harvested before the rising sun to retain the full force of its delicate fragrance. Fragile and fleeting, jasmine is a fair nymph of a flower with a potent perfume. A world without jasmine? Simply unimaginable. -DB

I prefer perfumery, it's the language of love.

She breathed in the scent of lemon blossoms, inspired by how their citrus sweetness mingled with fresh ocean air. Closing her eyes, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, tasting a faint saltiness in the moisture laden breeze. She imagined how dark, rich chocolate filled with the brightness of a lemon filling and dusted with chunky sea salt might taste. Delicious, she decided.

What a shame the lilac flower jealously guards its aroma, refusing to share its magic. Relying on alchemy, a perfumer recalls its impression with a blend. Together, the essences of jasmine, ylang-ylang, neroli, and vanilla plot to mimic the fair lilac flower. —

The rose: though its petals are easily bruised, it blooms with exuberance. What power the rose possesses; the merest hint of a blossom conjures the deepest memory. At dawn, roses must be picked quickly, for they lose half their essence—the perfumer's treasure—by the high sun of noon. —DB

The gardenia is an enigma, its petals dusted with the creamy white purity of innocence, but its aroma is wildly seductive. How appropriate; for in the language of flowers, the gift of gardenias conveys the message of secret love. —DB

They passed a crystal vase of luscious yellow roses, which burst from tight salmon buds into golden, creamy yellow blossoms tinged with delicate strokes of subtle peach.

Labeled apothecary bottles filled with raw material oils lined the risers: flowers, resins, leaves, woods, mosses, spices, herbs, seeds, grains, roots, bark, and fruit. From the animal kingdom came fixatives: civet, musk, and ambergris. The absolutes, the resinoids, the essential oils.

An independent woman selects her own perfume—scents to accent her style, her personality, her ambition. —DB

I prefer the delicate flavor profile in Criollo or Porcelana ." She loved the Venezuela chocolate, which her mother had favored, too. It blended well with violet and bergamot, equally smooth flavors that created the lightest of delicacies.

Malheur ne vient jamais seul.

Danielle had never started a business. But if others can do it, so can I.

A breakthrough in chemical research led to the creation of aldehydes. Paul Vacher and André Fraysse employed them for Arpège, Ernest Beaux for Chanel No. 5. Aldehydes add a vivid, quick quality to top notes; variations can be powdery, fruity, green, citrusy, floral, or woody. Utterly magical with rose and jasmine absolute, adds sparkle and brilliance. —DB

Perfume is my memory, the chronicle of my life. —DB

The poppy flower: A flower of eternal sleep, a narcotic to the wounded soul, a remembrance of the fallen soldier. —DB

A flaming red flapper dress, a sleek black dress with full, satin purple sleeves and a matching flounce, a summery cotton frock with a cheerful red poppy print, and a musketeer's gold-trimmed jacket tumbled out of the pile of clothing. A mound of scarves fluttered onto the bed. Marge fingered the frayed, tasseled edge of a silk jacquard scarf in shades of amethyst and emerald green.

The orchid, queen of exoticism, a mute observer slow to reveal the mysteries of her petals. Would that I had such patience, too. -DB

San Francisco had been to go to the farmers market in the plaza by the Ferry Building.