Acrid Smell Quotes & Sayings

Many of my patients continued to smoke, often furtively, during their treatment for cancer (I could smell the acrid whiff of tobacco on their clothes as they signed the consent forms for chemotherapy). — Siddhartha Mukherjee

but there was a queer, acrid smell about. — Bram Stoker

A living language is like a man suffering incessantly from small hemorrhages, and what it needs above all else is constant transactions of new blood from other tongues. The day the gates go up, that day it begins to die. — H.L. Mencken

There is a remarkably distinctive smell emitted by fearful bureaucrats. It is acrid, rank, and seems to cling to the clothing and the hair. Acting like a pheromone, it drives senior management to form small defensive herds from which to scream homicidally at middle management that they must not tell junior staff who can fix the problem what is going on because everything, including what has just been reported on the radio, is secret. — Peter Macinnis

The smell by now was indescribable, a compound of burnt aging automobile stinks and the natural odors of death and blood - sweet as garbage, acrid as gasoline, the smell of a thousand rubber tires rolled in batshit and then set on fire. — Michael Chabon

Silence is eternal eloquence — Alain Badan

They were all impatient for a kill. They wanted to fill their noses with the hot, acrid death that issued from a deer's carcass minutes after it drew its last breath, the smell that allowed them, as men, to tremble momentarily with the sensation of life, its heat and quiet. — Christopher Bollen

There was no wind, and, outside now of the warm air of the cave, heavy with smoke of both tobacco and charcoal, with the odor of cooked rice and meat, saffron, pimentos, and oil, the tarry, wine-spilled smell of the big skin hung beside the door, hung by the neck and all the four legs extended, wine drawn from a plug fitted in one leg, wine that spilled a little onto the earth of the floor, settling the dust smell; out now from the odors of different herbs whose names he did not know that hung in bunches from the ceiling, with long ropes of garlic, away now from the copper-penny, red wine and garlic, horse sweat and man sweat died in the clothing (acrid and gray the man sweat, sweet and sickly the dried brushed-off lather of horse sweat, of the men at the table, Robert Jordan breathed deeply of the clear night air of the mountains that smelled of the pines and of the dew on the grass in the meadow by the stream. — Ernest Hemingway,

From so much of this seriously-intended pornography there rises, even when it is lewdly or boisterously comic, the acrid smell, unmistakable, of self-dislike. — Storm Jameson

Little things are important. Eating, sleeping, being clean, exercise. Regaining control. — Patricia Cornwell

You can't believe one thing and do another. What you believe and what you do are the same thing. — Leonard Peltier

For the first time his senses began to register the exotic, heady atmosphere of Mumbai ... the odors most insistently demanded his attention. There were layers upon layers of them, all present at once but individually distinct. They shifted in strength and character with the ocean breeze that blew soft, irregular gusts across his face. First came the sharp tang of engine fuel mingled with an even more acrid burning smell, as though something unnatural had been set alight to blanket the city with a smoldering stench. A shift in the air's direction brought a fresher aroma of salt and brine floating in from the sea. It gave way to the hot smell of spices frying in oil, which in turn incongruously merged with the subtle reek of garbage. — Kathryn Guare

She hates herself a little for it. Zoey can smell him now, an acrid tang of body odor mixed with the last tinges of vanilla that all the clothes are washed in. The scent makes her want to vomit. "Pretty, — Joe Hart

In spite of his exceeding mental perturbation, Simpson struggled hard to detect its nature, and define it, but the ascertaining of an elusive scent, not recognized subconsciously and at once, is a very subtle operation of the mind. And he failed. It was gone before he could properly seize or name it. Approximate description, even, seems to have been difficult, for it was unlike any smell he knew. Acrid rather, not unlike the odor of a lion, he thinks, yet softer and not wholly unpleasing, with something almost sweet in it that reminded him of the scent of decaying garden leaves, earth, and the myriad, nameless perfumes that make up the odor of a big forest. Yet the 'odor of lions' is the phrase with which he usually sums it all up.
("The Wendigo") — Algernon Blackwood

The unpleasant, acrid smell of burnt poetry. — P.G. Wodehouse

The acrid odor of overloaded circuitry permeated the air, the horrid smell witness that at least one of his senses was working as sights and sounds became one with the unknown. Eventually he collapsed to the floor, wondering if he'd wake up in mortality. Then the muddled spectra went black, the silence that followed only possible in the deepest sectors of space. Or death. — Marcha A. Fox

We are created for the sake of love. When we experience love in family life, it is heavenly, but it is still only an image of the greater glory we hope to behold in heaven. — Scott Hahn

She ran and didn't slow until she came to a hallway that terminated in a multipaned window of thick, old-fashioned glass. Her breath rasped in her throat, but the dizziness and nausea eased enough that she stood steadier on her feet. She heard again the gentle ringing of metal sliding against metal. Musty air rose up with the same smell of leather and dust, an acrid undertone beneath. She whipped her head toward the end of the hall. At first she didn't see anything. The light shifted and swirled, and the swordsman materialized from the shadows. Gold and red emblazoned his tunic in a chevron against a cobalt background. The sword was back in its scabbard, strapped across his back. He was tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair, and he looked like Sebastian. Timed to the wind stirring the ivy outside, he vanished through the wall. — Carolyn Jewel

Male fantasy is seen as something that can create reality, whereas female fantasy is regarded as pure escape. — Bell Hooks

Does this bring more joy into the world, or does it diminish joy in the world? — Alan Cohen

Do I doubt the painting I've just painted because it is not right or because I can never like what I do? — Eric Maisel

smell its acrid horsehair upholstery and stale flour, — Richard Flanagan

Her words didn't have the acrid smell of death. — Haruki Murakami

I skated and rode bikes on ramps, and my mom was always super supportive. She was one of the only divorced moms in the neighborhood, so all the other parents looked down upon her for letting her kids do that kind of thing. — Spike Jonze