Quotes About Aroma

In those days you could identify a person's nationality by smell. Lying on her back with eyes closed, Desdemona could detect the telltale oniony aroma of a Hungarian woman on her right, and the raw-meat smell of an Armenian on her left. (And they, in turn, could peg Desdemona as a Hellene by her aroma of garlic and yogurt.)

Dr. Philbosian smelled like an old couch, of hair oil and spilled soup, of unscheduled naps.

The muffin halves popped up from the toaster on the counter behind him, and she stood up to get them, the scent of her mixing with the hot yeasty smell of the muffins, and the buttery, peppery smell of the eggs, and the fat, spicy smell of the sausage, and Shane lost track of where he was in conversation.

Oh my God,' Beatrice thought. Her mom had flour on her midsection and crumbs on her bosom. She'd been making brioche, and she smelled like yeast and sugar. It was like a loaf of bread had invaded her room. A loaf of bread that wanted to talk about sex.

Splendid cheeses they were, ripe and mellow, and with a two hundred horse-power scent about them that might have been warranted to carry three miles, and knock a man over at two hundred yards. 

According to my dad, there were three perfect smells in this world: Fresh-cut grass. A campfire at the edge of a redwood forest. The jubilance of rich black dirt after a thunderstorm.

Scent is an extension of your style; it becomes your signature.

I can't imagine Japanese food without dashi, a broth made with kelp and dried bonito flakes. It has the aroma of the sea, tinged with a subtle smokiness, and adds a very important, distinct flavor.

I love the smell of book ink in the morning.

Never underestimate the power of a good cup of coffee.

It's so early do you want some coffee or something?

Essential oils are like little packages of positivity.

It was a bacon morning. Out of every window, the delicious odor of pig meat frying.

Nothing awakens a reminiscence like an odor

Best way to get rid of kitchen odors: Eat out.

His breath smelled like bananas and moldy feet.

Brown, I say, deep brown. Like coffee without any milk.

The dialogue fills the auditorium like an unrefrigerated boxcar of month-old steaks.

She is full uh pepper, John laughed to himself, but ah laks dat. Anything 'thout no seasonin' in it ain't no good.

The rose of the world was breathing out smell.

The coffee doesn't taste the way it smells. For that Adriana is thankful. If it did, humans would never do anything other than drink it. Smell is the sense of memory. Each coffee would recall countless memories, boundless memories. Coffee as the drug of remembering.

Rebus was eating breakfast in the canteen and wishing there was more caffeine in the coffee, or more coffee in the coffee come to that.

I pull up the covers, and smell the sunshine.

I love coming home to Melbourne. The first thing I do is have a coffee. It's just so much better here than anywhere else. It's better than in Italy and I travel a lot. I crave it.