Smell Quotes - Page 30

• Sam loved to listen to music and make his own songs, to wear soft velvets, to play in the castle kitchen beside the cooks, drinking in the rich smells as he snitched lemon cakes and blueberry tarts. His passions were books and kittens and dancing, clumsy as he was.

  George R. R. Martin

  Song, Drinking, Book

  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.232, Bantam

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• That’s the tricky thing about love. It walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and smells like a duck. But after you sleep with it a month or so, or get dumped at the altar by it, it starts smelling more like a skunk.

  C.C. Hunter

  Sleep, Ducks, Months

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• A computer does not smell ... if a book is new, it smells great. If a book is old, it smells even better… And it stays with you forever. But the computer doesn’t do that for you. I’m sorry.

  Ray Bradbury

  Sorry, Book, Forever

  Ray Bradbury, Sam Weller (2012). “Listen to the Echoes: The Ray Bradbury Interviews”, p.273, Melville House

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• It was starting to smell really good in here. And if I liked what it smelled like, then they were liking what they were smelling, and ah…that would be me.

  Kim Harrison

  Would Be, Starting, Ifs

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• Since he saved me from the attack, I have associated his smell with safety, so as long as I focus on it, I feel safe now.

  Veronica Roth

  Long, Safety, Focus

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• "You look different now. Like a proper little girl," (said Gendry.) "I look like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns," (said Arya.) "Nice, though. A nice oak tree. [...] You even smell nice for a change."

  George R. R. Martin

  Girl, Nice, Stupid

  "A Storm of Swords: A Song of Ice and Fire: Book Three". Book by George R. R. Martin, 2000.

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• What do you think?" he asks. "I hate them," I say. I can almost smell the blood, the dirt, the unnatural breath of the mutt. "All I do is go around trying to forget the arena and you've brought it back to life. How do you remember these things so exactly?" "I see them every night," he says.

  Suzanne Collins

  Hate, Night, Thinking

  Suzanne Collins (2010). “Catching Fire (The Second Book of the Hunger Games)”, p.53, Scholastic Inc.

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• I want my room to smell just like this." Iggy inhaled deeply as the scents flame-broiled burgers and hot french fries wafted around us. 'it would be an improvement.' I agreed.

  James Patterson

  Flames, Hot, Would Be

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• I want to be inside you so badly, Grace,” he whispered. “I want to feel your legs wrapped around me, feel your breasts against my chest, hear you moaning as I make slow, sweet love to you. I want your smell on my body, your breath on my skin.

  Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Sweet, Grace, Skins

  Sherrilyn Kenyon (2009). “Fantasy Lover”, p.155, Hachette UK

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• Fine,' Aria conceded. 'But *I'll* carry her.' She grabbed the baby seeat from the back. A smell of baby powder wafted up to greet her, bringing a lump in her throat. Her father Byron, and his girlfriend, Meredith, had just had a baby, and she loved Lola with all her heart. If she looked too long at this baby, she might love her just as much.

  Sara Shepard

  Baby, Girlfriend, Father

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• Smell is the most powerful trigger to the memory there is. A certain flower, or a-a whiff of smoke can bring up experiences long forgotten. Books smell musty and-and-and rich. The knowledge gained from a computer is a... it, uh, it has no-no texture, no-no context. It's-it's there and then it's gone. If it's to last, then-then the getting of knowledge should be, uh, tangible. It should be, um, smelly.

  Joss Whedon

  Memories, Powerful, Flower

  "Fictional character: Rupert Giles". Buffy the Vampire Slayer (I, Robot... You, Jane), www.imdb.com. April 28, 1997.

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• The smell of that buttered toast simply spoke to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cozy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries.

  Kenneth Grahame

  Morning, Cat, Winter

  1908 The Wind in the Willows, ch.8.

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• I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.

  Madeline Miller

  Love, Feet, World

  Madeline Miller (2011). “The Song of Achilles”, p.126, Bloomsbury Publishing

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• I have always been jealous of artists. The smell of the studio, the names of the various tools, the look of a half-finished canvas all shout of creation. What do writers have in comparison? Only the flat paper, the clacketing of the typewriter or the scrape of a pen across a yellow page. And then, when the finished piece is presented, there is a small wonder on one hand, a manuscript smudged with erasures or crossed out lines on the other. The impact of the painting is immediate, the manuscript must unfold slowly through time.

  Jane Yolen

  Jealous, Artist, Impact

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• Oh my God. I thought I was going to have an aneurysm right there in line. Your hair smells really good? Your hair smells really good? Who did he think he was? James Bond? You don't tell someone their hair smells good. Not in a mall.

  Meg Cabot

  Thinking, Hair, Lines

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• The smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her skin seemed to have got inside him, or into the air all round him. She had become a physical necessity.

  George Orwell

  Romantic, Hair, Feelings

  George Orwell, A.M. Heath (2003). “Animal Farm and 1984”, p.234, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• I've been sniffing out the guys in my English class (to the extent that this is possible without getting my throat cut), but they smell the same way they always do: like feet and testicles. As opposed to freesias. I don't want to keep sniffing them, Lyd. - Letter from Seb to Lyd.

  Jaclyn Moriarty

  Cutting, Class, Feet

  Jaclyn Moriarty (2010). “The Year of Secret Assignments”, p.177, Scholastic Inc.

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• I always feel a certain sense of reverence in libraries, even small city ones that smell like homeless internet users.

  Ken Jennings

  Cities, Library, Internet Users

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• Old Rose: It's been 84 years, and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in. Titanic was called the Ship of Dreams, and it was. It really was.

  James Cameron

  Dream, Years, Rose

  "Titanic". www.imdb.com. 1997.

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• Dali blinked at me. "Would you mind making coffee while you're dancing? I smell it on the bottom shelf, either first or second jar on the left." I opened the first jar and looked inside. Coffee. The label said BORAX. "What's up with the labels?" Dali shrugged. "You're in the house of a cat whose job is to spy. He thinks he's clever. I'd be careful with the silverware drawer. There might be a bomb in it.

  Ilona Andrews

  Jobs, Clever, Coffee

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• They say love dies between two people. That’s wrong. It doesn’t die. It just leaves you, goes away, if you aren’t good enough, worthy enough. It doesn’t die; you’re the the one that dies. It’s like the ocean: if you’re no good, if you begin to make a bad smell in it, it just spews you up somewhere to die. You die anyway, but I had rather drown in the ocean than be urped up onto a strip of dead beach and be dried away by the sun into a little foul smear with no name to it, just this was for an epitaph

  William Faulkner

  Beach, Ocean, Names

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• How did you find me anyway." "For all that I must keep reminding you that I am not a bloodhound, it's true that on occasion, having a sensitive nose is a useful thing. I followed the smell of you." Tybalt sighed, looking exaggeratedly put-upon. "If you must be ferried back to your people, I suppose I can oblige. But only because you asked me so very nicely, and promised me a kiss.

  Mira Grant

  Kissing, People, Noses

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• Squeeze your eyes closed, as tight as you can, and think of all your favorite autumns, crisp and perfect, all bound up together like a stack of cards. That is what it is like, the awful, wonderful brightness of Fairy colors. Try to smell the hard, pale wood sending up sharp, green smoke into the afternoon. To feel the mellow, golden sun on your skin, more gentle and cozier and more golden than even the light of your favorite reading nook at the close of the day.

  Catherynne M. Valente

  Reading, Eye, Autumn

  Catherynne M. Valente (2011). “The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making”, p.130, Macmillan

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• She looked at nice young men as if she could smell their stupidity.

  Flannery O'Connor

  Nice, Men, Stupidity

  Flannery O'Connor (2016). “A Good Man is Hard to Find”, p.120, Faber & Faber

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• There was something dead in my heart. I tried to figure out what it was by the strength of the smell. I knew that it was not a lion or a sheep or a dog. Using logical deduction, I came to the conclusion that it was a mouse. I had a dead mouse in my heart.

  Richard Brautigan

  Dog, Heart, Sheep

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