Quotes About Scent

The older names of flowers involved a similar degree of awareness; we might guess at the qualities of plants called hound's piss and goodnight-at-noon, but it took real intimacy to name a flower courtship-and-matrimony: its sweet scent fades after picking.

Wild dreaming is what they desire most. Dreams that hold the scent of deep green moss, lichen, the place where the roots of a tree enter the earth, old stone, the dust of a moth's wings.

The bear knows the scent of dreams as they flow like small streams through the air, and these streams are what they hunt, what they follow to their source, what they gather and bind.

She asked him, What is the scent of snow? He replied, Soft, cold, blue. And she asked of blue could be a scent. He answered, Moss, tundra, clean earth and lichen. The scent of snow is calm, An absence of scent that illuminates, so that any warm life smells so rich.

Snow mutes scent, he said. Cold steals the scent from land, but also enlivens. And, where ice meets sea, the salt scent sharpens, water thickens. Out on the ice, mineral pure, the scent of snow is a sharp pain, a tightening of breath.

She had not forgotten the time she was lost - how even while lost she refused to feel the fear, but instead saw only the green beauty of the wildwood, breathing deep the scent of trees, earth, lichen, moss.

Somewhere in that vast tapestry of interwoven odors, Angel was sure he could smell the dead. Not their bodies, but their souls. His newest theory was that the dead came as ghosts in sudden finger-thin wafts of perfume or cigarette or hair's sweet soap scents when it was drying in the sun…

Yours is... il sent comme lavande." Is that French for 'You stink'?" It means 'lavender'." Huh." She sniffed at her wrist. "I thought I smelled more like a grape Popsicle.

I could smell his scent; a mixture of amber, honey and apples mixed with his own skin's oils and the brisk winter air. Something deep inside me responded to the fragrance. I felt as if I could lose myself in it. Wrap it around me like a cashmere shawl & be forever warmed.

S)cents connects us to a past we can't always see, that seems lost but can so easily be conjured up and found.

I could still smell the hospital in my nose. It wasn't anything around me. It was her. I stopped breathing, but the smell was still there. I held my breath.

His eyelids were the color of the dawn sky; he smelled like earth after rain.

I can smell him. The oils that he uses on his feet, pomegranate and sandalwood; the salt of clean sweat; the hyacinths we had walked through, their scent crushed against our ankles. Beneath it all is his own smell, the one I go to sleep with, the one I wake up to.

I turned all my firewood to cedar so that its scent would fill my halls each night.

Love is no hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind. A wild plant that, when it blooms by chance within the hedge of our gardens, we call a flower; and when it blooms outside we call a weed; but, flower or weed, whose scent and color are always, wild!

She breathed deeply, and for full ten minutes stood there, like a watered plant drawing up the food of its vitality. The scent was of leaves and turned earth and of rain not far away; the last time she had stood there had been at the end of May, and she had inhaled that scent of summer which is at once a memory and a promise, an aching and a draught of delight...

he smoked so much marijuana that his hair smelled like a cupboard crammed with oregano;

Menos mal que mi bigote filtra parte del hedor. Aun así, mis órganos olfativos están empezando a emitir señales de inquietud.

I can smell him. The oils that he uses on his feet, pomegranate and sandalwood; the salt of clean sweat; the hyacinths we had walked through, their scent crushed against our ankles. Beneath it all is his own smell, the one I go to sleep with, the one I wake up to. I cannot describe it. It is sweet, but not just. It is strong but not too strong. Something like almond, but that still is not right. Sometimes, after we have wrestled, my own skin smells like it.

The space beside me on the bed was empty, but the pillow still held the shape of him, and the sheets smelled of us both.

This wash is excellent, what is it?" "Thistle, artemisia, celery, sulfur. Magic.

Él se removía y el aire del interior de la tienda con él, impregnando el ambiente con su suave aroma a musgo. «Es esto lo que voy a echar de menos. Me mataré antes que perderlo», pensé, y luego me pregunté: «¿Cuánto tiempo tenemos?».

He smelled like earth after rain.

I had no idea one ingredient could transform a perfume like that." "That's precisely where the magic is," said Polly, smelling her blotter again. "This is seriously sexy now. Do you like it, Guy?" His eyes were closed again, nose down to the smell, and he made a noise in the back of his throat, almost like a growl. "I love it," he said, opening his eyes and grinning at them.