Scent Quotes - Page 11

• I could still smell her on my fur. It clung to me, a memory of another world. I was drunk with it, with the scent of her. I'd got too close. The smell of summer on her skin, the half-recalled cadence of her voice, the sensation of her fingers on my fur. Every bit of me sang with the memory of her closeness. Too close. I couldn't stay away.

  Maggie Stiefvater

  Summer, Memories, Voice

  "Shiver". Book by Maggie Stiefvater, 2009.

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• Love is the cure, for your pain will keep giving birth to more pain until your eyes constantly exhale love as effortlessly as your body yields its scent.

  Rumi

  Love, Spiritual, Pain

  Rumi (2014). “'Another city'. a selectionf of poems from the Persian”, p.111, Lulu.com

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• Love is not a 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 colour are always, wild!

  John Galsworthy

  Weed, Flower, Sunshine

  John Galsworthy (2011). “The Forsyte Saga 1: The Man of Property: The Forsyte Saga: Book One”, p.107, Hachette UK

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• But in the garden the sun still shone. The innumerable bees hummed. The scent of thyme hung on the air. But only the Natterjack was there to breathe the fragrant essence of it. He and the garden were waiting. They were waiting for more children. They didn't care how long they waited. They had all the time in the world. -The Time Garden, Edward Eager

  Edward Eager

  Children, Garden, Air

  Edward Eager (2001). “The Time Garden”, p.171, Oxford University Press, USA

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• Down the hill I went, and then, I forgot the ways of men, For night-scents, heady and damp and cool Wakened ecstasy

  Sara Teasdale

  Night, Men, Way

  Sara Teasdale, William Drake (1984). “Mirror of the Heart: Poems of Sara Teasdale”, MacMillan Publishing Company

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• When the starry sky, a vista of open seas, or a stained-glass window shedding purple beams fascinate me, there is a cluster of meaning, of colors, of words, of caresses, there are light touches, scents, sighs, cadences that arise, shroud me, carry me away, and sweep me beyond the things I see, hear, or think, The "sublime" object dissolves in the raptures of a bottomless memory. It is such a memory, which, from stopping point to stopping point, remembrance to remembrance, love to love, transfers that object to the refulgent point of the dazzlement in which I stray in order to be.

  Julia Kristeva

  Memories, Thinking, Sky

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• Then I smell the sweat on him, a clean musky scent that I'd bottle and wear as perfume if I could.

  Gayle Forman

  Sweat, Smell, Bottles

  Gayle Forman (2009). “If I Stay”, p.109, Penguin

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• He who ruled scent ruled the hearts of men.

  Patrick Süskind

  Heart, Men

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• To-day I think Only with scents, - scents dead leaves yield, And bracken, and wild carrot's seed, And the square mustard field; Odours that rise When the spade wounds the root of tree, Rose, currant, raspberry, or goutweed, Rhubarb or celery; The smoke's smell, too, Flowing from where a bonfire burns The dead, the waste, the dangerous, And all to sweetness turns. It is enough To smell, to crumble the dark earth, While the robin sings over again Sad songs of Autumn mirth." - A poem called DIGGING.

  Edward Thomas

  Song, Autumn, Dark

  Edward Thomas (2011). “Selected Poems of Edward Thomas”, p.85, Faber & Faber

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• I hate that word, CAN’T. I wish it had never been dreamed up, spoken, or defined. I wish the concept of CAN’T could be eradicated not only from language, but more importantly from the psyche of a girl who I know is filled with so much CAN it seeps out of her pores and scents the air.

  Tiffanie DeBartolo

  Girl, Hate, Air

  Tiffanie DeBartolo (2005). “How to Kill a Rock Star”, p.132, Sourcebooks, Inc.

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• As we trudge back through the woods, we reach a boulder, and both Gale and I turn our heads in the same direction, like a pair of dogs catching a scent on the wind. Cressida notices and asks what lies that way. We admit, without acknowledging each other, it's our old hunting rendez-vous place. She wants to see it, even after we tell her it's nothing really. Nothing but a place where I was happy, I think.

  Suzanne Collins

  Dog, Lying, Thinking

  Suzanne Collins (2010). “Mockingjay (The Hunger Games, Book 3)”, p.127, Scholastic Inc.

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• taking her hand he led her out into a broad stretch of hard sandy soil that the moon flooded with great splendor. They floated out like drifting moths under the rich hazy light, and as the fantastic symphony wept and exulted and wavered and despaired, Ardita's last sense of reality dropped away, and she abandonded her imagination to the dreamy summer scents of tropial flowers and the infinite starry spaces overhead, feeling that if she opened her eyes it would be to find herself dancing with a ghost in a land created by her own fantasy.

  F. Scott Fitzgerald

  Summer, Flower, Eye

  F. Scott Fitzgerald (2015). “The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald: Novels, Short Stories, Poetry, Articles, Letters, Plays & Screenplays: From the author of The Great Gatsby, The Side of Paradise, Tender Is the Night, The Beautiful and Damned, The Love of the Last Tycoon, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and many other notable works”, p.1640, e-artnow

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• Regardless of the reaction of others, one thing is certain: True worship and devotion will make our lives fragrant and will perfume the environment around us. Our homes, our churches, even our places of work will bear the sweet scent of our devotion. Most important, the Lord Jesus will be pleased. And ultimately that is all that really matters.

  Nancy Leigh DeMoss

  Sweet, Jesus, Home

  Nancy Leigh DeMoss (2009). “A Place of Quiet Rest: Finding Intimacy with God Through a Daily Devotional Life”, p.254, Moody Publishers

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• Catelyn had never liked this godswood. She had been born a Tully, at Riverrun far to the south, on the Red Fork of the Trident. The godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers.

  George R. R. Martin

  Flower, Garden, Air

  George R. R. Martin (2012). “George R. R. Martin's A Game of Thrones 5-Book Boxed Set (Song of Ice and Fire Series): A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows, and and A Dance with Dragons”, p.32, Bantam

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• If the ego is in the slightest way separated from its source, it yearns to find it again. This search comes from the remembrance of unity and plenitude. As every experience emanates from the non-experience which is our real being, the me also bears the scent of its source. This remembering is awakened through those moments of desirelessness and in deep sleep.

  Jean Klein

  Real, Sleep, Remembrance

  Jean Klein (2006). “I Am”, p.40, New Harbinger Publications

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• The difference between me and a butterfly is that the butterfly looks at a flower with no purpose in mind but to sip nectar. The flower feeds its body while for me the colours and shapes and scents of flowers feed my heart. But how arrogant of me to assume that the butterfly does not feel its miniscule heart also soar for no reason other than touching and being touched by beauty!

  Densey Clyne

  Beauty, Flower, Butterfly

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• All it has experienced, tasted, suffered: The course of years, generations of animals, Oppression, recovery, friendship of sun and - Wind Will pour forth each day in the song Of its rustling foliage, in the friendly Gesture of its gently swaying crown, In the delicate sweet scent of resinous Sap moistening the sleep-glued buds, And the eternal game of lights and Shadows it plays with itself, content.

  Hermann Hesse

  Song, Sweet, Recovery

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• I love the scent of burnt flesh in the morning.

  Sgt. Slaughter

  Morning, Wrestling, Flesh

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• The scent of Sloth tempts a smug man.

  James Boswell

  Men, Sloth, Laziness

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• The most difficult thing for us seems to be to give of ourselves, to do away with selfishness. If we really love someone, nothing is too difficult for us to do for that individual. There is no real happiness in having or getting unless we are doing it for the purpose of giving it to others. Half the world seems to be following the wrong scent in the pursuit of happiness-many think it consists of having and getting and being served, when really happiness is found in serving others.

  Nathan Eldon Tanner

  Selfish, Real, Pursuit Of Happiness

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• the intermittent breeze carried her scent to me again and again , singing in another language of memories from another form .

  Maggie Stiefvater

  Memories, Singing, Language

  Maggie Stiefvater (2014). “Shiver Series (Shiver, Linger, Forever, Sinner)”, p.285, Scholastic Inc.

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• I hope you can understand one thing, I will like you till the day I die. Don't they say there's no reasons when you love someone? It's a lie. I can tell you one hundred reasons. Your voice... Your fingers... Your scent... Your shadow... As long as it's a characteristic associated with a woman, I like them all... That is my reason.

  Lee Dong-gun

  Drama, Lying, Voice

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• The breaking of the alabaster box and the anointing of the Lord filled the house with the odor, with the sweetest odor. Everyone could smell it. Whenever you meet someone who has really suffered; been limited, gone through things for the Lord, willing to be imprisoned by the Lord, just being satisfied with Him and nothing else, immediately you scent the fragrance. There is a savor of the Lord. Something has been crushed, something has been broken, and there is a resulting odor of sweetness.

  Watchman Nee

  Pain, Smell, Broken

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• It is a kind of church, back in these last cores. It may not be your church -- this last one percent of the West – but it is mine, and I am asking unashamedly to be allowed to continue worshipping the miracle of the planet, and the worship of a natural system not yet touched, never touched by the machines of man. A place with the residue of God – the scent, feel, sight, taste, and sound of God – forever fresh upon it

  Rick Bass

  Men, Sight, Miracle

  Rick Bass (1996). “The book of Yaak”, Houghton Mifflin

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• At the heart of science is an essential balance between two seemingly contradictory attitudes-an openness to new ideas, no matter how bizarre or counterintuitive they may be, and the most ruthless skeptical scrutiny of all ideas, old and new. This is how deep truths are winnowed from deep nonsense.

  Carl Sagan

  Attitude, Heart, Science

  "The Demon-Haunted World : Science as a Candle in the Dark". Ch. 17 : The Marriage of Skepticism and Wonder. Book by Carl Sagan, 1995.

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