Quotes About Scent

My scents for change are (and there's a lot of them, because there's a lot going on for me at the moment!): Pour Homme by Yamamoto On the Road by Timothy Han Santal Blanc by Serge Lutens Oud Wood by Tom Ford Dear Polly by Vilhelm La Flâneuse by Lucien Lechêne PM by the Great Eastern Fragrance Company Je t'aime Jane by Bella Freud No. 9 Benjoin by Prada Shalimar by Guerlain Original by Eight & Bob

For 'The scent of yoga' she chose Black Lapsang because its smoky opening always made her think of incense and sacred spaces- which is what she tried to create in her former dining room, but without using joss sticks because she didn't think they went well with deep breathing. She closed her eyes as the perfume developed to reveal its Assam-tea middle note, which made her think immediately of that first yoga breakfast with Shirlee and Maxine and the yogi bears.

The next blog was 'The scent of the elders' and there was only one possible perfume choice for that: Mitsouko. Polly hesitated before bringing the blotter to her nose. She knew that perfume- which scent connoisseurs considered 'the greatest chypre'- so well, she wanted to play it through in her mind first, from the sparkling peach top note to the spicy vetiver base, because she didn't have time to let all the stages of it develop.

She knew what the Barbour aftershave would make her think of, and of course it did with its forest violets and cinnamon bark.

As well as sniffing my mum's precious bottles, I loved squirting the perfume onto myself, so from a very young age I walked around in a rather overpowering haze of scent. My father started calling me Fragrant Cloud, after his favorite rose- hence the name of this blog.

She brought her wrist up to her nose again. Mmm, it was getting even more interesting. That vanilla note, then something sharper. But it wasn't jasmine, as she'd first thought; it was more lemony, but not obvious kitchen-cleaner lemon... a kind of warm, smoky citrus. Burned lemon peel, that was it.

Oakmoss, patchouli, bergamot, labdanum, in the balance you constantly shift and nuance like a conductor, but dancing on top of that tonka, a hint of leather and a cheeky reference to Miss Dior, with some carnation. I think there will be ambergris and sandalwood in the dry-down, and I can't wait to see how it smells in the middle of the night.

roses. You'll enjoy both the scent and the flowers as you relax and entertain. Planting roses around the mailbox or lamp post and along walks and drives also makes your home inviting.

roses. They are considered the ultimate flower to give as a gift, especially the classic red ones. Their special scent is a part of many of our perfumes.

Their special scent is a part of many of our perfumes. Photos or paintings of roses grace calendars, cards and advertisements. Poets and songwriters frequently use the romantic symbolism

I will choose from my intimate memories what's fitting: the scent of wrinkled sheets after making love is the scent of grass after rain. — Mahmoud Darwish, from "Dense Fog Over The Bridge," If I Were Another: Poems . Translated by Fady Joudah. (Farrar, Straus and Giroux; 1 edition, October 27, 2009) Originally published 2009.

That was the remarkable thing about paper, you can leave it lying in the back of the cupboard drawer for years and when you take it out it retains a trace of scent, sometimes enough to ambush the heart with the memory of a long-lost love.

Smell is an invitation to a journey: it allows us to leave the ordinary course of things and go on a trip, to absent ourselves.

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

Les visages de ceux qu'on a le plus aimés s'effacent avec le temps, les voix s'oublient, mais les senteurs, jamais.

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.

Mais, quand d'un passé ancien rien ne subsiste, après la mort des êtres, après la destruction des choses, seules, plus frêles mais plus vivaces, plus immatérielles, plus persistantes, plus fidèles, l'odeur et la saveur restent encore longtemps, comme des âmes, à se rappeler, à attendre, à espérer, sur la ruine de tout le reste, à porter sans fléchir, sur leur gouttelette presque impalpable, l'édifice immense du souvenir.

It is to such sufferings that we attach the pleasure of loving, of delighting in the most insignificant remarks of a woman, which we know to be insignificant, but which we perfume with her scent.

When, on a summer evening, the melodious sky growls like a tawny lion, and everyone is complaining of the storm, it is the memory of the Méséglise way that makes me stand alone in ecstasy, inhaling, through the noise of the falling rain, the lingering scent of invisible lilacs.

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

GRAY-EYED COLE SAT in his bedroom window, looking out over the road, a scoped Ruger 10/22 in his hands. Squirrel rifle. Below him, a quilt hung on the wire clothesline, airing out. Before the end of the day, the quilt would smell like early-summer fields, with a little gravel dust mixed in. A wonderful smell, a smell like home.

windows crowded with useless crap. Beeswax candles, leftover Christmas decorations at fifty percent off, a notice for a book signing by Trippton's favorite author, which had happened three days earlier, and a sun-browned sign that said, "Explore Your Home Scent

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).