Quotes About Fragrance

La sang li circula veloç, la carn se li esponja, humida, i és arreu que se sent fràgil perquè és tota ella que l'estima.

Habíamos dormido en casas campesinas, humildes, sintiendo el roce de la piedra al lado de la almohada, el correteo de los ratones, el extraño crujir de las camas transportando suspiros desde los cuartos matrimoniales, los pasos balbucientes de un anciano y el sonido de caracola del orinal en la noche, el saúco en lucha contra el viento en la ventana, el ir y el venir de las contraseñas centinelas de los perros.

Durante la infancia yo confundía estos parajes terrenales con los pliegues de mi propio cerebro y desde aquellos días de inocencia no me ha abandonado la idea de que la vida de los hombres no es sino un nudo de aromas que se va deshaciendo ante la muerte.

Yes, I always remember my dad's, mom's and my grandma's perfumes.

Singur?tatea este o gr?din? în care sufletul se usuc?, florile care cresc în ea n-au parfum.

I sogni sognati in due diventano i ricordi più belli. La solitudine è un giardino dove l'anima inaridisce, dove i fiori non hanno profumo.

Alice had a rare gift: she was a "nose." Her sense of smell was so acute that she could distinguish and memorize the slightest odor. She spent her days alone, bent over the long wooden table in her flat, blending different essences to obtain combinations that might one day become a perfume. Every month she made the rounds of the London perfume shops, offering them her new creations.

He lived in the ancient house where he was born, at the bottom of a vallon in the hills, three hundred meters from Massacan, surrounded by a pine wood, the silence of solitude, the odor of resin, and the perfume of rosemary.

When nothing else subsists from the past, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered...the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls...bearing resiliently, on tiny and almost impalpable drops of their essence, the immense edifice of memory

I was left alone there in the company of the orchids, roses and violets, which, like people waiting beside you who do not know you, preserved a silence which their individuality as living things made all the more striking, and warmed themselves in the heat of a glowing coal fire...

But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection. And as soon as

But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, still, alone, more fragile, but with more vitality, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unfaltering, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.

burying the bush in these little rosettes, almost too ravishing in colour, this rustic 'pompadour'. High up on the branches, like so many of those tiny rose-trees, their pots .concealed in jackets of paper lace, whose slender stems rise in a forest from the altar of the greater festivals, a thousand buds were swelling and opening, paler in colour, but each disclosing as it burst, as at the bottom of a cup of pink marble, its blood-red stain...

I was left alone there in the company of orchids, roses and violets, which, like people who are kept waiting in a room beside you but do not know you, preserved a silence which their individuality as living things made all the more impressive, and received coldly the warmth of a glowing fire of coals, preciously displayed behind a screen of crystal, in a basin of white marble over which it spilled, now and again, its perilous rubies.

But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more immaterial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.

The breath of the enchanted wind mingles the fresh scent of the lilacs with the fragrance of the past.

The breeze smelled like the breath of an old man with bad teeth.

Roanoke was deep into spring—which was really pretty, even if it turned out that all the native blooms smelled like rotten meat dipped in sewer sauce (that description courtesy of Magdy, who could string together a phrase now and then).

My darling looks like a little girl when she awakens. You couldn't think she is the mother of two big brats. And her skin has a lovely smell, like new-cut grass, the most cozy and comforting odor I know.

The smell of azaleas and the sleepy smell of sun working with chlorophyll filled the air.

But it must be hard living the Lily Maid, the Goddess-Virgin, and the other all at once. Humans just do smell bad sometimes.

And suddenly she was at him, after him with her fists, her struggling weight; he squeezed her against him, regretfully conscious even now, as her pinned fists flailed his shoulders and her face crumpled into contorted weeping and the sharp smell of perfume was scalded from her, that the expression, of serene superiority, of a beautiful secret continually tasted, was still on his face.

God the Father's a deep root; the Son's the shoot that breaks into the world; the Spirit spreads the beauty & fragrance

Memories are the sweetest flowers watered by the tears of love.