Quotes About Fragrance

I picked up the rose-colored sachet pillow on her bed. Hugging it against my flat chest, I breathed in its sweet fragrance. "I was very sassy on the phone. I'm sorry, Mom.

[W]hen the mind is really absent, in that silence, in that unlimited space, your potential starts glowing, radiating, flowering. Suddenly you are full of cherry blossoms, a new presence, a new fragrance.

Meditation is a flower and compassion is its fragrance.

I always remember my childhood house with happy memories. There was a beautiful garden, and outside my bedroom window was a jasmine vine which would open in the evenings, giving off a divine scent.

I've been wearing Red Roses since I was 22. Jo Malone London is woven into the fabric of my life, and I couldn't be happier to be working with a brand I love so much.

L'amour est une plante de printemps qui parfume tout de son espoir, même les ruines où il s'accroche.

Did you ever sleep in a field of orange-trees in bloom? The air which one inhales deliciously is a quintessence of perfumes. This powerful and sweet smell, as savoury as a sweetmeat, seems to penetrate one, to impregnate, to intoxicate, to induce languor, to bring about a dreamy and somnolent torpor. It is like opium prepared by fairy hands and not by chemists.

The cookery books will give you a thousand finicky devices, mushrooms in this, mushrooms in that, but there is only one way—to fry them, simply with bacon, until they swim in their black fragrant juice.

But the ship swept on, and the dusk hushed the hum of the day, and the first stars above blinked answers to the early fireflies on the banks as that jungle fell far behind, leaving only its fragrance as a memory that it had been.

Remember that every day you quicken into motion waves that undulate on to the very confines of existence; you stir up waves that break upon the shores of eternity itself. And it is of much importance whether they are waves of brightness that are radiated, bearing light and fragrance far and wide, or whether they are waves of gloom, carrying misery and misfortune to loosen pent-up glaciers that will create an Ice Age of the national heart.

Was this perhaps life, then?—to have loved one summer in youth and not to have been aware of it until it was over, some sea-wet footprints on the floor and sand in the prints, the fragrance of a woman, soft loving lips in the dusk of a summer night, sea birds; and then nothing more; gone.

Behind each petal of the rose he had a tiny bedroom. Oh, how fragrant his rooms were, and how bright and transparent the walls, for they were the beautiful pale pink petals of the rose! All day long the little elf rejoiced in the warm sunshine as he flew from flower to flower or danced on the wings of the fluttering butterflies...

I'm totally on a mission to find my signature scent, but I'm too mercurial.

Happiness radiates like the fragrance from a flower and draws all good things towards you.

When you unbox a My Little Pony or a Strawberry Shortcake doll, you were hit with a sweet, impossibly perfect fragrance of fresh, machine-made plastic oftentimes infused with floral and fruity notes to bring the toy to life. That third dimension of sensory experience made the toy so real to me.

The fragrance of sandalwood and rosebay does not travel far. But the fragrance of virtue rises to the heavens.

Nothing is more wistful than the scent of lilac, nor more robust than its woody stalk, for we must remember that it is a tree as well as a flower, we must try not to forget this.

Virtue pardons the wicked, as the sandal-tree perfumes the axe which strikes it.

But the trees were gorgeous in their autumnal leafiness - the warm odours of flowers and herb came sweet upon the sense.

A man ought to carry himself in the world as an orange tree would if it could walk up and down in the garden, swinging perfume from every little censer it holds up in the air.

...freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night...

How can one help shivering with delight when one's hot fingers close around the stem of a live flower, cool from the shade and stiff with newborn vigor!

Come on, Joseph,' interrupted Zhenya. 'She smells of Chanel No. 5!' Afterwards, Zhenya realized she had made a mistake:

You smell of cinnamon in spite of the mombins.' 'You smell of cinnamon too,' I'd murmur.