Smell Quotes - Page 14

• Hark, now hear the sailors cry, smell the sea, and feel the sky let your soul & spirit fly, into the mystic.

  Van Morrison

  Beach, Ocean, Sea

  "Song: 'Into the Mystic'". 1970.

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• Isn't it odd how much fatter a book gets when you've read it several times?" Mo had said..."As if something were left between the pages every time you read it. Feelings, thoughts, sounds, smells...and then, when you look at the book again many years later, you find yourself there, too, a slightly younger self, slightly different, as if the book had preserved you like a pressed flower...both strange and familiar.

  Cornelia Funke

  Flower, Book, Self

  Cornelia Funke (2011). “Inkspell”, p.65, Scholastic Inc.

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• When she bleeds the smells I know change colour. There is iron in her soul on those days. She smells like a gun.

  Jeanette Winterson

  Gun, Iron, Soul

  Jeanette Winterson (2013). “Written On The Body”, p.136, Random House

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• It had been startling and disappointing to me to find out that story books had been written by people, that books were not natural wonders, coming up of themselves like grass. Yet regardless of where they come from, I cannot remember a time when I was not in love with them - with the books themselves, cover and binding and the paper they were printed on, with their smell and their weight and with their possession in my arms, captured and carried off to myself. Still illiterate, I was ready for them, committed to all the reading I could give them.

  Eudora Welty

  Book, Reading, People

  One Writer's Beginnings ch. 1 (1983)

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• For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

  William Shakespeare

  Weed, Deeds, Turns

  William Shakespeare (1797). “The Poetical Works of Shakespeare. With the Life of the Author ... Embellished with Superb Engravings [including a Portrait].”, p.168

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• By then Esthappen and Rahel had learned that the world had other ways of breaking men. They were already familiar with the smell. Sicksweet. Like old roses on a breeze.

  Arundhati Roy

  Men, Rose, World

  Arundhati Roy (2002). “The God of Small Things”, p.6, Penguin Books India

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• Every second he breathed, the smell of the grass, the cool air on his face, was so precious: To think that people had years and years, time to waste, so much time it dragged, and he was clinging to each second.

  J. K. Rowling

  Thinking, Air, Years

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• It's the centuries, Scarlett darling. All the life lived there, all the joy and all the sorrow, all the feasts and battles, they're in the air around and the land beneath you. It's time, years beyond our counting weighing without weight on the earth. You cannot see it or smell it or hear it or touch it, but you feel it brushing your skin and speaking without sound. Time. And mystery.

  Alexandra Ripley

  Air, Years, Land

  Alexandra Ripley (1992). “Scarlett: the sequel to Margaret Mitchell's Gone with the wind”, G K Hall & Co

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• fate is not just whose cooking smells good, but which way the wind blows

  Ani DiFranco

  Fate, Blow, Wind

  Song: Slide, Album: Evolve, 2003

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• Who's this—alone with stone and sky? It's only my old dog and I— It's only him; it's only me; Alone with stone and grass and tree. What share we most—we two together? Smells, and awareness of the weather. What is it makes us more than dust? My trust in him; in me his trust.

  Siegfried Sassoon

  Dog, Dust, Sky

  Siegfried Sassoon (1956). “Sequences”

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• And now I've got to explain the smell that was in there before I went in there. Does that ever happen to you? It's not your fault. You've held your breath, you just wanna get out, and now you open the door and you have to explain, 'Oh! Listen, there's an odor in there and I didn't do it. It's bad.

  Ellen DeGeneres

  Doors, Doe, Odor

  Ellen Degeneres (2011). “My Point...And I Do Have One”, p.48, Bantam

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• ...and every Wednesday the perfumed young lady slips me a hundred-crown note to leave her alone with the convict. And by Thursday the hundred crowns are already gone in so much beer. And when the visiting hour is over, the young lady comes out with the stink of jail in her elegant clothes; and the prisoner goes back to his cell with the lady's perfume in his jailbird's suit. And I'm left with the smell of beer. Life is nothing but trading smells.

  Italo Calvino

  Beer, Cells, Clothes

  Italo Calvino (2012). “If on a winter's night a traveler”, p.76, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• You have lost your reason and taken the wrong path. You have taken lies for truth, and hideousness for beauty. You would marvel if, owing to strange events of some sorts, frogs and lizards suddenly grew on apple and orange trees instead of fruit, or if roses began to smell like a sweating horse; so I marvel at you who exchange heaven for earth. I don't want to understand you.

  Anton Chekhov

  Horse, Lying, Taken

  Anton Chekhov (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Anton Chekhov (Illustrated)”, p.2020, Delphi Classics

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• Outside it's a perfect spring night. We stand on the sidewalk in front of our apartment building, and Henry takes my hand, and I look at him, and I raise our joined hands and Henry twirls me around and soon we're dancing down Belle Plaine Avenue, no music but the sound of cars whoosing by and our own laughter, and the smell of cherry blossoms that fall like snow on the sidewalk as we dance underneath the tress.

  Audrey Niffenegger

  Laughter, Spring, Fall

  "The Time Traveler's Wife". Book by Audrey Niffenegger, 2003.

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• There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows circling with their shimmering sound; And frogs in the pool singing at night, And wild plum trees in tremulous white; Robins will wear their feathery fire, Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done. Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree, If mankind perished utterly; And Spring herself when she woke at dawn Would scarcely know that we were gone.

  Sara Teasdale

  Spring, War, Rain

  Sara Teasdale (1937). “Collected poems”

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• Don't you love being alive?" asked Miranda. "Don't you love weather and the colors at different times of the day, and all the sounds and noises like children screaming in the next lot, and automobile horns and little bands playing in the street and the smell of food cooking?" "I love to swim, too." said Adam. "So do I," said Miranda, "we never did swim together.

  Katherine Anne Porter

  Children, Color, Weather

  Katherine Anne Porter (2008). “Katherine Anne Porter: Collected Stories & Other Writings”, p.384, Library of America

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• It was a spring day, the sort that gives people hope: all soft winds and delicate smells of warm earth. Suicide weather.

  Susanna Kaysen

  Suicide, Spring, Wind

  Susanna Kaysen (2013). “Girl, Interrupted”, p.52, Vintage

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• At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.

  Rainer Maria Rilke

  Autumn, Sea, Touching

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• Art thou angry with him whose armpits stink? Art thou angry with him whose mouth smells foul?

  Marcus Aurelius

  Art, Mouths, Armpits

  Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, Lucius Annaeus Seneca (2016). “Stoic Six Pack: Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, Golden Sayings, Fragments and Discourses of Epictetus, Letters from a Stoic and The Enchiridion”, p.57, Enhanced Media Publishing

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• Let him smell his way to Dover!

  William Shakespeare

  Dover, Way

  William Shakespeare (1840*). “The Works of Shakspeare; from the Text of the Standard Edition by Isaac Reed”, p.799

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• It's so easy to wish for death when nothing's wrong with you! It's so easy to fall in love with death, and I've been all my life, and seen it's most faithful worshippers crumble in the end, screaming just to live, as if all the dark veils and the lillies and the smell of candles, and grandiose promises of the grave meant nothing. I knew that. But I always wished I was dead. It was a way to go on living

  Anne Rice

  Falling In Love, Dark, Faithful

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• If it looks like a Dwarf, and it smells like a Dwarf, then it's probably a Dwarf or a latrine wearing dungerees.

  Eoin Colfer

  Dwarves, Looks, Dwarfs

  Eoin Colfer (2008). “Artemis Fowl: The Lost Colony”, Miramax

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• Come clean with a child heart Laugh as peaches in the summer wind Let rain on a house roof be a song Let the writing on your face be a smell of apple orchards on late June.

  Carl Sandburg

  Happiness, Summer, Song

  Carl Sandburg (2015). “Honey and Salt”, p.54, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• A hippie is someone who looks like Tarzan, walks like Jane and smells like Cheetah.

  Ronald Reagan

  Funny, Anniversary, Hippie

  "Character: Ronald Reagan". "The Tripper", www.imdb.com. 2006.

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• Why this cult of wilderness?... because we like the taste of freedom; because we like the smell of danger.

  Edward Abbey

  Taste, Wilderness, Danger

  Edward Abbey (1984). “Beyond the Wall: Essays from the Outside”, p.59, Macmillan

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