Every Scent Quotes & Sayings

It was remarkable, but every time he kissed her, her lips seemed to grow sweeter, her scent more beguiling. And his need grew, too. His blood was racing with desire, and it was taking his every last shred of restraint not to push her back onto the sofa and tear her clothes from her body.
That would come later, he thought with a secret smile. But this - surely her first time - would be slow and tender and everything a young girl dreamed.
Well, maybe not. His smile turned into an outright grin. Half the things he was going to do to her, she wouldn't have even thought to dream about. — Julia Quinn

I love perfumes. Every morning when my girlfriend and I come down to the courtyard in our block of flats we're assailed by the most delicious scent - jasmine round a doorway. It almost makes me swoon. — Alan Rickman

When his flock thronged into the midnight service, there was wonder on every face at the newly hung greens and the softly flickering candles on each windowsill. To the simple beauty of the historic church was added fresh, green hope, the lush scent of flowers in winter, and candle flame that cast its flickering shadows over the congregation like a shawl. — Jan Karon

His nostrils flared then,and he lifted his head."Oh,God,Princess.Your scent.As much as I would love to see you work your cunt again,up close and personal this time,I must have you,taste you.Fuck,I want to drown in you,bury my face in your pussy and lap up every drop."

~Lucian Roman — Laura Wright

I could imagine his sorrow. My father had a sensual relationship with his books. He loved feeling them, stroking them, sniffing them. He took a physical pleasure in books: he could not stop himself, he had to reach out and touch them, even other people's books. And books then really were sexier than books today: they were good to sniff and stroke and fondle. There were books with gold writing on fragrant, slightly rough leather bindings, that gave you gooseflesh when you touched them, as though you were groping something private and inaccessible, something that seemed to tremble at your touch. And there were other books that were bound in cloth-covered cardboard, stuck with a glue that had a wonderful smell. Every book had its own private, provocative scent. Sometimes the cloth came away from the cardboard, like a saucy skirt, and it was hard to resist the temptation to peep into the dark space between body and clothing and sniff those dizzying smells. Father would generally return — Amos Oz

I loved you before I even knew the name for it. Everyday I'd sit beside you, inhaling your scent, looking at your beautiful face. Every night, dreaming about you. You eclipsed everything else. It was you. Always you. — Heather Anastasiu

We live in an immense world, whole universes of taste and touch and scent, of voices commingling in the light, and dying away with the common dread that stands at every man's door. Yet we perceive and remember this world only as it creates those single fragments of experience: moments of everyday kindness, or self-sacrificing love, or unthinkable brutality. — Bruce Holsinger

She closed her eyes, trying to remember the photos that had hung on the walls. She had passed these pictures every day, but now she only remembered them vaguely--her parents on their wedding day, her mother in a garden, her family at Knott's Berry Farm. How had she not memorized them? Or maybe she had once but she was beginning to forget. Did the house smell different because her mother's scent was gone? Or had she just forgotten how her mother smelled? — Brit Bennett

Ask me about my childhood, and I will tell you to walk to the edge of the woods with a choir of crickets chirping from every direction, a hot, humid breeze brushing through your hair, your feet, bare and callused. Stand there, unmoving, and watch the dance of ten thousand fireflies blinking on and off in the darkness. Inhale the scent of cured tobacco, freshly plowed southern soil, burning leaves, and honeysuckle. Swallow the taste of blackberries, picked straight from the bushes, and lick your teeth, the after-taste still sweet in your mouth. Now, stretch out on the ground and relax all your muscles. Watch nature's festival of flickering lights. — Brenda Sutton Rose

It was as if he stopped time for them two weeks out of every year, cut them off from both the past and the future so that they had only this present in a brand-new place, this present in which her children sought the sight and the scent of her: a wonderful thing, when you noticed it. When the past and the future grew still enough to let you notice it. He did that for her. This man she'd married. — Alice McDermott

His eyes were warm as he gazed at me. "I would do anything for you, don't ever forget that." Emil moved closer, gently tucking the rose behind my ear. The floral scent perfumed every breath I took as Emil brushed his thumb lightly over my lips. "Evie, I lost you once, I won't
lose you again. Even if it takes a thousand years to earn your trust and win you back, I'll do it. You're the only person in my life who matters.
You're the only person who ever has. I love you. Emil — Angela Corbett

The scent of growth, quiet and green, hung heavy in the air. I heard everything. I saw everything. I could count the craters on the moon. I could count every mosquito buzz past, bypassing my tender skin out of respect for a fellow bloodsucker. — Molly Harper

With every breath, Aideon felt that lingering scent wrapping tighter around his heart and soul. When she came back, he was never letting her go. — Sarah J. Maas

If our reputation rests on the decisions we make, then Abishag has impeccable taste. If fragrance is worn to make a personal statement, then the unchosen Abishag has publicly proclaimed her allegiance. She has put on the scent of her lord, for her lord. She belongs to him. Every facet of her character proclaims rejection of other, so-called, 'shepherds.' Whether he chooses her, or not, she has chosen him.
pg 36 — Michael Ben Zehabe

I love tulips better than any other spring flower; they are the embodiment of alert cheerfulness and tidy grace, and next to a hyacinth look like a wholesome, freshly tubbed young girl beside a stout lady whose every movement weighs down the air with patchouli. Their faint, delicate scent is refinement itself; and is there anything in the world more charming than the sprightly way they hold up their little faces to the sun. I have heard them called bold and flaunting, but to me they seem modest grace itself, only always on the alert to enjoy life as much as they can and not be afraid of looking the sun or anything else above them in the face. — Elizabeth Von Arnim

I took a deep, overly exaggerated breath, the sort of over-the-top gesture that was filmed for commercials about scented laundry detergent, but in this case was my way of trying to absorb every molecule of my old normal life. I loved the smell of the living room, the kitchen, Jenna's recycling porch, the cupboards, and the basement laundry room. I loved everything, and it seemed to love me back. It was as if my heart had grown to three times its normal size, and it could now hold the specialness of every person who crossed my path; it could track how phenomenal every scent, sound, taste, or texture was. Everything was beautiful, even if it was just the laundry that I'd pulled out of the dryer, still warm, and hugged like a small, lost child. — Dee Williams

McDaniel, stay, if you would. We have a game to finish and business to discuss." Van Buren strode to the chestnut bar and poured two glasses of Glen Garioch, 1958 whiskey. He downed a shot of his favorite beverage and refilled before facing McDaniel. The dark burgundy walls and the lingering spicy scent of recently-smoked Gurkha cigars soothed him. "You play a good game of poker. Do you play often?" Van Buren approached the table with the drinks. "Every Friday night. — M.V. Miles

Women waste so much time wearing no perfume. As for me, in every step that I have taken in life, I have been accompanied by an exquisite perfume! — C. JoyBell C.

There were books everywhere. Hundreds of books. Thousands of books. There were books of every size, shape, and color. They lined the walls from floor to ceiling, standing straight and rigid as soldiers on the polished mahogany shelves, the gilt lettering on their worn spines glinting in the soft light, the scent of supple leather and aging paper filling the air. — Ellery Adams

What kind of understanding?" he murmured almost absently, his mind clearly on other, more provocative things.
The trace of amusement in his voice irritated her, as if he were merely humoring her. Savannah pushed at the solid wall of his chest to put a few inches between them. His large frame didn't budge, and she was locked in by his arm. She pushed at him again. "Forget it."
He bent his head to taste the vulnerable line of her neck, to feel her pulse in the warm, moist cavern of his mouth. His blood surged and pounded. Little jackhammers began to beat at his skull. "I am listening to every word you say, ma petite," he murmured, lost in her softness, in the scent of her. He wanted her with every fiber of his being, every cell in his body. "I could repeat each word verbatim, if you desire. — Christine Feehan

Her scent assaulted his senses before he saw her. His body reacted like it did every time she was around. — Meg Knight

A bluetick hound bays out there in the fog, running scared and lost because he can't see. No tracks on the ground but the one's he's making, and he sniffs in every direction with his cold red-rubber nose and picks up no scent but his own fear, fear burning down into him like steam. — Ken Kesey

I have Vie Luxe candles in every room. In 2006 I spent the month of August in Sardinia, and the scent reminds me of the wonderful time we had. — Tamara Mellon

sweetness on the tongue and a promise of scent on the night air. It was sensual in the best meaning of that word, saturating every sense at once, so that the flesh was known, finally, as a thing of such goodness that man blessed his Creator from morning to night for having made him. Here in this medieval town where once an extraordinary little fellow had burst forth with songs to God, as a passionate lover speaks to his bride, here the restoration of man to his own true home was no longer the dream of saints. It was the wedding feast. It was a word made flesh. — Michael D. O'Brien

In the middle of a garden grew a rose tree; it was full of roses, and in the loveliest of them all lived an elf. He was so tiny that no human eye could see him. He had a snug little room behind every petal of the rose. He was as well made and as perfect as any human child, and he had wings reaching from his shoulders to his feet. Oh, what a delicious scent there was in his room, and how lovely and transparent the walls were, for they were palest pink, rose petals. — Hans Christian Andersen

Feral beauty tangled up and over every surface. Enormous vines and flourishing blooms swathed the area creating a shadowy, organic cathedral. A faint whiff of perfume breezed to her, like jasmine, but sweeter, more delicate - if jasmine could be more delicate without losing its scent entirely. The buzzing of alien insects reminded her of the sticky, summer days of her childhood in the South, and cicadas filled her memory with their incessant mating calls. Here, however, the insects grew louder as it grew darker. It seemed even they understood the dangers of daylight. — Jacqueline Patricks

A first child is your own best foot forward, and how you do cheer those little feet as they strike out. You examine every turn of flesh for precocity, and crow it to the world. But the last one: the baby who trails her scent like a flag of surrender through your life when there will be no more coming after
oh, that' s love by a different name. — Barbara Kingsolver

I believe I have thought of nothing but the mystery of your skin and the scent of your hair since the day we met. I believe I meant every word in that chapel about making you my wife, and I believe I am going to have the time of my life on our wedding night, my dear. Do you believe? — Leslea Tash

I saw that every flower He has created has a beauty of its own, that the splendor of the rose and the lily's whiteness do not deprive the violet of its scent nor make less ravishing the daisy's charm. I saw that if every little flower wished to be a rose, Nature would lose her spring adornments, and the fields would be no longer enameled with their varied flowers. — Therese De Lisieux

The Wise County Bookmobile is one of the most beautiful sights in the world to me. When I see it lumbering down the mountain road like a tank ... I flag it down like an old friend. I've waited on this corner every Friday since I can remember. The Bookmobile is just a government truck, but to me it's a glittering royal coach delivering stories and knowledge and life itself. I even love the smell of books. People have often told me that one of their strongest childhood memories is the scent of their grandmother's house. I never knew my grandmothers, but I could always count on the Bookmobile. — Adriana Trigiani

She'd just walked into heaven. And her grandmother was right there, in every scent.
Sugary and sweet.
Herby and sharp.
Yeasty and fresh. — Sarah Addison Allen

I hear the sounds of melting snow outside my window every night and with the first faint scent of spring, I remember life exists ... — John Geddes

I may not have seen your face or breathed your scent before, but I knew who you were the moment I saw you. The moment I had to bite my tongue to keep from ordering you to your knees in front of everyone. The second I wanted to challenge every wolf who so much as shook your hand. The very instant I stopped hating this match, I knew who you were. — Kim Dare

He loved her. He loved her because nature willed it. Because they were already united and of one body. The bare flesh on every part of her belonged to him. The scent emitting from her skin was his. — Alexandra Silber

My favourite scent ... changes every day. I have a cupboard full - so many I can't begin to tell you. — Marie Helvin

I could really appreciate him now - could properly see every beautiful line of his perfect face, of his long, flawless body with my strong new eyes, every angle and every plane of him. I could taste his pure, vivid scent on my tongue and feel the unbelievable silkiness of his marble skin under my sensitive fingertips. — Stephenie Meyer

I have no interest in prisioners or battling today," Manon said.
The Queen of Terrasen gave her a grin. "Good."
Manon turned away, barking at her Thirteen to get to their mounts.
"I suppose," the queen went on, "that makes you smarter than Baba Yellowlegs."
Manon stopped, staring straight ahead and seeing nothing of the grass or sky or tress.
Asterin whirled. "What do you know of Baba Yellowlegs?"
The queen gave a low chuckle, despite the warning growl from the Fae warrior.
Slowly, Manon looked over her shoulder.
The queen tugged apart the lapels of her tunic, revealing a necklace of thin scars as the wind shifted.
The scent - iron and stone and pure hatred - hit Manon like a rock to the face. Every Iroonteeth witch knew the scent that forever lingered on those scars: Witch Killer. — Sarah J. Maas

Don't do it. Please. I know this book looks delicious with its light-weight pages sliced thin a prosciutto and swiss stacked in a way that would make Dagwood salivate. The scent of freshly baked words wafting up with every turn of the page. Mmmm page. But don't do it. Not yet. Don't eat this book. — Morgan Spurlock

In the passage of their lives together every object in the garden, every item in the house, every word they spoke, attested to their mutual love, the combining of their humuours ... When the time came that Nora was alone most of the night and part of the day, she suffered from the personality of the house, the punishment of those who collect their lives together. Unconsciously at first, she went about disturbing nothing; then she became aware that her soft and careful movements were the outcome of an unreasoning fear - if she disarranged anything Robin might become confused - might lose the scent of home. — Djuna Barnes

Now there grows among all the rooms, replacing the night's old smoke, alcohol and sweat, the fragile, musaceous odor of Breakfast: flowery, permeating, surprising, more than the colour of winter sunlight, taking over not so much through any brute pungency or volume as by the high intricacy to the weaving of its molecules, sharing the conjuror's secret by which - though it is not often Death is told so clearly to fuck off - the living genetic chains prove even labyrinthine enough to preserve some human face down ten or twenty generations ... so the same assertion-through-structure allows this war morning's banana fragrance to meander, repossess, prevail. Is there any reason not to open every window, and let the kind scent blanket all Chelsea? As a spell, against falling objects ... — Thomas Pynchon

I had wondered for a long time why God had preferences and why all souls did not receive an equal amount of grace [ ... ] Jesus saw fit to enlighten me about this mystery. He set the book of nature before me and I saw that all the flowers He has created are lovely. The splendor of the rose and whiteness of the lily do not rob the little violet of its scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. I realized that if every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness and there would be no wild flowers to make the meadows gay. — Therese Of Lisieux

What do you want?"
"You," he said, his voice lowering an octave. "I want you, Dutch, body and soul. I want you in my bed every night. I want you there when I wake up in the morning. I want your clothes strung across my apartment and your scent on my skin. — Darynda Jones

It was one of those rare times of shared happiness, of perfect contentment. We had a feeling of expectation, that what was already wonderful would only get better and better as time went on. These moments are one of the rarest, most fragile things in the world. You have to seize the day; you have to recall all the rotten, dirty things you endured to earn this peace. You have to remember to enjoy each minute, each hour, because although you may feel like it's going to last forever, the world plans otherwise. You want to be grateful for every precious second, but you simply can't do it. It's not in human nature to live life to the fullest. Haven't your ever noticed that equal amounts of pain and joy are not, in fact, equal in duration? Pain drags on until you wonder if life will ever be bearable again; pleasure, though, once it's reached its peak, fades faster than a trodden gardenia, and your memory searches in vain for the sweet scent. — George Alec Effinger

If I knew you were going to die, I'd make your last moment on earth last forever. I'd take you to the Eiffel Tower in Paris and make sure that you have the most romantic dinner your life. I'd fill your room with hundreds of wild sunflowers, so that even in death, you may carry the scent of something beautiful. If you were to die I'd make sure to drag you through an amusement park and ride all the crazy rides with you, eat all that ice cream with you, win all those stuffed animals for you.
If you were to die, I'd beat up every single person in the world who has ever hurt you. I'd protect you with my life. I'll protect you with everything I own, everything I have, everything I can give. If I knew you were going to die, I'd cut out my own heart for you. I'd cut it out so you could have it. So that you could live. Because I sure as hell can't live without you. — Anonymous

Golden shadows shimmered and the musky scent of the candles dizzied every breath. They were on the bed now, an enormous bed with sheets of glowing satin. Clasped in an embrace they rolled together, drinking deep kisses from gasping mouths, hands stroking, teasing, chasing, bodies pressing against each other as if seeking to melt and become one with the other. — Maggie Osborne

Ajax blinked. Then he looked swiftly into her face. In her words, in her voice, was a sound he knew well. For the first time he saw the green ribbon. He looked around and saw the gleaming kitchen and the table set for two and detected the scent of the nest. Every hackle on his body rose, and he knew that very soon she would, like all of her sisters before her, put him to the death-knell question "Where you been?" His eyes dimmed with a mild and momentary regret. — Toni Morrison

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

With Torin stretched over her, his weight pinning her down, his heat and scent surrounding her, she was utterly consumed with pleasure. It saturated her bones, submerged her mind, tickled her every cell. She was alive with decadent sensation. — Gena Showalter

There will be a few people there you can talk to," Lock told her. "Some of the ambassadors and their mates have had the translation implants so they'll understand you. And they'll be safe - your scent won't affect mated males." "So I should stick with the couples." Kat nodded. "Got it." "Only if you should get separated from Deep and myself," Lock said. "But I don't think that will be a problem. We'll be shadowing your every move." "Oh joy," Kat said dryly. "I can't wait." It — Evangeline Anderson

I miss sunrise even more. The green scent of dawn in the forest? The color blushing back into the world, different every day. — Laini Taylor

Paths. Curiosities lurked around every corner. A man belched flames from a podium. The scent of fried cakes and popcorn hung sweet and heavy on the air, tantalizing until it became sickening. And — Madeleine Roux

Every potion has eight parts. One part is a base liquid to hold the others and provide a medium for mixing. Five parts are symbolically linked to each of the five senses. One is similarly linked to the mind, and another to the spirit. The basic ingredient to the stimulant potion was coffee, while the base for the scent-masking potion was water. I got them both to boiling. — Jim Butcher

You need a man who knows and understands you, Alyssa. Both sides of you. A partner." He pulls my necklaces - and me - closer. "One who's your equal in every way." The scent of licorice fills my nose; he must've been smoking his hookah before I arrived. My body betrays me, remembering what those tobacco-laced kisses taste lik — A.G. Howard

[Wild animals], and the beautiful landscapes that sustain them ... possess a value and a virtue regardless of our dwindling connection with them. It seems that there is a virtue and a wisdom in keeping some things beyond our reach: that the protection of wilderness itself is imperative ... We have touched, and are consuming, everything. The world is very old, and we are so new. I like the feeling of awe
what the late writer Wallace Stegner called 'the birth of awe'
in beholding wild country not reduced by man. I like to remember that it is wild country that gives rise to wild animals; and that the marvelous specificity of wild animals reminds us to wake up, to let our senses be inflamed by every scent and sound and sight and taste and touch of the world. I like to remember that we are not here forever, and not here alone, and that the respect with which we behold the wild world matters, if anything does. — Rick Bass

We can deeply love our poison. We can love the taste of it, the scent of it, the comforting weight of it in our belly and find ourselves woken in the night with stabbing cramps, arms around porcelain toilet bowls, hurling every last bit until collapsing on bathroom tile, limp from dehydration. Sometimes parting with love is essential for survival. I've found the most tragic aspect of losing loved ones wasn't the big boom of the fallout, but realizing later how much healthier I was without them. — Maggie Young

In the night the eyes are partly closed, or retire into the head. Other senses take the lead. The walker is guided as well by the sense of smell. Every plant and field and forest emits its odor now, - swamp-pink in the meadow, and tansy in the road; and there is the peculiar dry scent of corn which has begun to show its tassels. The senses both of hearing and smelling are more alert. We hear the tinkling of rills which we never detected before. — Henry David Thoreau

Barely able to breathe, Eva's tongue slipped across her lips.
He moved a bit closer. "Every time ye walk past, I want ye. Your scent sends my insides into a maelstrom of need."
She closed her eyes and drew out the moment, wishing he'd say that again. Oh, how delectable to listen to a medieval Scotsman declare his desire. — Amy Jarecki

If heaven existed, she'd just found it. His earthy scent. His stabilizing energy. Nothing smelled better, not even fresh bread from the oven, or a puppy or lilacs in the summer. He filled every crevice in her heart, gluing the broken pieces back together, one breath at a time. — Lyz Kelley

Nature, exerting an unwearied power,
Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower;
Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads
The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads. — William Cowper

Coffee is a lot like people. In many ways, it's deceiving. The sweetness that you smell as it brews is more often than not a fallacy. The scent of a dark roasted coffee bean promises you rich flavors with hints of chocolate and hazelnut, but if you're not used to coffee's deceptiveness, you're left with a bitter aftertaste dangling at the back of your throat. To those of us who are used to it- we've grown a fondness for that bitter taste. It's complex. It's teasing. It reminds us that most things in life are not consistently sweet with every sip. One morning, your coffee might brew mild with just a flirtation of nutty undertones, And the next morning, it might be pelting you in the face with those same nuts, leaving little stinging marks with each sip. It's moody. It's not easy to perfect. But when you get the perfect brew, it's rewarding. And that same perfection is not guaranteed tomorrow just because you managed it today. — Katana Collins

Was so much more than she'd ever expected for herself, but she was finding that nothing less would satisfy her. For the rest of her life, every man she came into contact with would be judged against Tristan. No one could meet his standard. I made love to this man, she thought, awed, drawing in his scent that still clung to her skin. Several times. Peace fluttered inside her, a feeling she'd thought she possessed before - a sort of satisfaction with her life, an acceptance. She'd deceived herself, convinced herself that her life was fine the way it was. Now she knew the truth. True satisfaction was only found in Tristan's arms. With him, she felt alive, whole. Desired. — Gena Showalter

But the wood has endured. In splinters and shavings, gorgeously encased, it has traveled the world over and found a joyous welcome among every race. For it states a fact. Hounds are checked, hunting wild. A horn calls clear through the covert. Helena casts them back on the scent. Above all the babble of her age and ours, she makes one blunt assertion. And there alone lies Hope. — Evelyn Waugh

When you're like this, Vadim, I want to own you, and taste you, burrow all the way into your body until I feel so much it fucking hurts and your scent clings to every pore. I want to hurt you, tear you apart, fuck you until you plead and scream and bleed, and all that, because I can never get enough of you. — Aleksandr Voinov

I'm ready," she promised. She kissed his jaw and then rubbed her cheek against it, letting out a low hum of arousal at the feel of his stubble on her skin. He had a scent that every single one of her senses responded to. The texture of his skin, the taste of his tongue, the latent strength in his hands - everything about him did it for her. "I want this," she said. "I want you. — Jill Shalvis

I like it more to come to a place like this, where the scent of death
is carried to you on every seventh breath. — Kendare Blake

Our mouths fit together so perfectly. Every time we kiss, I fall even more in love with him, and it has nothing to do with sex or lust. It's him. His closeness and his scent and the way he soothes me. — Sarina Bowen

For one thing, I know every book of mine by its scent. — George Gissing

The things you remember about a person when they're gone are funny. No two people will feel the same way, though usually it has to do with scent, or expression, the sound of a voice, an unusual gesture. For me, I can still see the colors of Keiko; the black of her hair against creamy pale skin, her dark blue kimono with white circles, the deep orange persimmons falling from the brown basket she carried. The ache in my heart grows larger every time I think of these colors, and how as each day passes they continue to fade from my eyes. — Gail Tsukiyama

Dammit, woman! You're scent, your stupid bloody delicious scent lingering in every crevice of my body and my wardrobe, driving me nearly mad. Do you know what it's like to want something so badly, to have it so close, and still feel that it's out of your reach? Out of control? — Delilah S. Dawson

When I close my eyes I see your face, only your face. Fire rains around us, lightning strikes, and the blood of those we love threatens to be spilled at every turn and yet all I can see is you. You are the touch I crave, the scent I want to drown in, and the air that gives me life. There is nothing that can captivate me as you do. No matter the beauty, the violence, or the intrigue, you are the only thing that holds my every thought, my utter devotion, and because of that, you will also hold my life in the palm of your hands." ~Decebel — Quinn Loftis

His smell - the scent of a demon, cinnamon incense, amber musk - wrapped around me, filled my lungs. I felt like I could breathe again, without every breath being tainted by the stench of dying cells. The smell of him seemed to coat my abused insides with peace, and flow down into the middle of my body to spread through my veins. I filled my lungs again. While I could, before what was undoubtedly a hallucination vanished. — Lilith Saintcrow

I want so desperately to bridge the gap between our bodies. I want to press my lips to every part of him and I want to savor the scent of his skin, the strength in his limbs, in his heart. I want to wrap myself in the warmth and reassurance I've come to rely on. — Tahereh Mafi

My grandmother always used to wear this English perfume called Tuberose and then she died and then I dated this girl who wore the same thing. Every time I hung out with her, I could only think of my recently deceased grandmother. So sometimes a signature scent can be good and sometimes it can be bad. — Mark Ronson

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

And then you realize one day that you can't remember her scent and nothing smells like her anymore. You can't remember how she feels or the sound of her voice. You haven't thought of her every second of every day. Then--then you feel more alone than on the day you lost her. — Desiree Banks

Of course I could have done things differently. I could stop fucking thinking about you and obsessing over you and fucking wanting you for just long enough to do my fucking job - that's what I could do differently."
[ ... ]
"Have you any idea what every day here is like for me? I can't eat, I can't focus, I can't sleep. I spend my nights frozen in one position, afraid to move in case I accidentally do all the things I really, really want to do. I want to do them so much that just having you look at me is a kind of torture. Just being near you, just getting a hint of that maddening marzipan scent that's all over your hair - — Charlotte Stein

I can't stand how much like my dreams you smell; it's torture. You are torture. You wear metal on your skin like you're made of it, and it bites at me every time you're around. No matter how many showers I take, I smell your scent on me, on this ship, while I'm trying to sleep. I don't understand it, and can't stand it. I can't stand how I want you so badly and don't at the same time, because you're what I've been looking for, and I don't know what it means to have found it. — Jacqueline Koyanagi

As they walked, it seemed almost every building had some similar contrivance as decoration, adorning the street in a cacophony of clangs, bangs and whirs. The street's surroundings danced with steam and smoke, the scent of oil and grease its perfume. — A.F. Stewart

In the shop, breathing the scent of dusty grease and oil; in the old house, staring into the living room where Dad and Jake used to take naps together on the couch; in the sheep barn, remembering the joy implicit in so much baaing life; in every inch of the farm, I recalled my father's presence. — Julene Bair

Elli, don't cry!"
"I'm sorry," she said, sniffing as she tried to stop crying, "You're like a dream, Shea, no one does that anymore."
"Sure they do, come here."
She went into his arms willingly, rubbing her nose against his shirt, taking in his heavenly scent.
"I meant every word, Elli. You're amazing."
How in the world did she get so lucky?
And why couldn't she believe him? — Toni Aleo

I would come to learn that the alpha female can read every single bit of food you put into your body. Make a choice that'a going to keep you strong and fit for the pack and you will pass muster; make a choice that's the equivalent of chocolate cake in the human world and you'll wind up urinating in streams to disguise your scent, or else suffer the consequences. — Jodi Picoult

In the fairy tales there's only one Big Bad Wolf and the little girl takes only one trip through the Dark Forest and fights only one fight for her life before the story ends in happily and ever after. But life on the Calle is real, not make-believe, and every Calle girl knows that once the My-What-Big-Paws-You-Have fall on her skin, Little Red will carry that scent no matter how hard she scrubs. From that point on, every wolf in the every forest of her very real life will recognize her and they'll do their Biggest and Baddest to get into her basket anytime she drops her guard. So be prepared. We're not out of the woods yet. — Tupelo Hassman

Try telling the boy who's just had his girlfriend's name
cut into his arm that there's slippage between the signifier
and the signified. Or better yet explain to the girl
who watched in the mirror as the tattoo artist stitched
the word for her father's name (on earth as in heaven)
across her back that words aren't made of flesh and blood,
that they don't bite the skin. Language is the animal
we've trained to pick up the scent of meaning. It's why
when the boy hears his father yelling at the door
he sends the dog that he's kept hungry, that he's kicked,
then loved, to attack the man, to show him that every word
has a consequence, that language, when used right, hurts. — Todd Davis

AS their peculiar perfume is the chief association with spices, so sorcery is allied in every memory to gypsies. And as it has not escaped many poets that there is something more strangely sweet and mysterious in the scent of cloves than in that of flowers, so the attribute of inherited magic power adds to the romance of these picturesque wanderers. Both the spices and the Romany come from the far East - the fatherland of divination and enchantment. The latter have been traced with tolerable accuracy, If we admit their affinity with the Indian Dom and Domar, back to the p. 2 threshold of history, or well-nigh into prehistoric times, and in all ages they, or their women, have been engaged, as if by elvish instinct, in selling enchant. merits, peddling prophecies and palmistry, and dealing with the devil generally ill a small retail way. As it was of old so it is to-day - Ki shan i Romani - Adoi san' i chov'hani. Wherever gypsies go, There the witches are, we know. — Charles Godfrey Leland

Every day stole away more of her presence, leaving in its place faint wisps of memories devoid of color, scent, and sound. — Karen Hawkins

I found every breath of air, and every scent, and every flower and leaf and blade of grass and every passing cloud, and everything in nature, more beautiful and wonderful to me than I had ever found it yet. This was my first gain from my illness. How little I had lost, when the wide world was so full of delight for me. — Charles Dickens

I have been searching for you
for centuries, Jenna. I never knew your name or if you were even alive yet,
but I had already memorized every part of your gorgeous face, your scent,
the glimmer in your eyes. I had dreamed it all many times over the course
of my long existence. I searched for you because I knew you were my
mate. - Lucas Thaler, Demon King — J.L. Sheppard

The scent of flowers does not travel against the wind; but the odor of good people travels; even against the wind: a good man pervades every place. — Max Muller

They ask me what kind of perfume I wear or how I choose a signature scent or what to wear to what occasion. The truth is, I just go into the perfumery and pick out the most beautiful smell. I sniff the scent and then see with my mind's eye the vision that it brings to my heart. If I want to wear that vision with me every day until the bottle is all used-up, then that's the perfume I'll purchase. And I do use it up until there's nothing left and only then do I go out to buy another one. Another vision for another year or two. Fragrance, to me, is about wearing a perspective on your skin. The scent itself is the vehicle by which you can be reminded of those pictures that those notes have opened in your soul. — C. JoyBell C.

One night
it was on the twentieth of March, 1888
I was returning from a journey to a patient(for I had now returned to civil practice), when my way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered door ... I was seized with a keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I looked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own story. He was at work again. He had risen out of his drug-created dreams and was hot upon the scent of some new problems. — Arthur Conan Doyle

Out here, without the clouds of cigar smoke, there was nothing to compete with the scent of the rich wood panelling, the preparation of savory foods somewhere off in the house and, over that, the subtle sweetness of the more polite Argyll's cologne. It wasn't like the bottle I slipped under Charlie's pillow every Christmas Eve, not quite so familiar. This had a sweeter edge to it, the difference between flowers and berries. — Anouska Knight

Every night I empty my heart, but by morning it's full again.
Slow droplets of you seep in through the night's soft caress.
At dawn, I overflow with thoughts of us
An aching pleasure that gives me no respite.
Love cannot be contained, the neat packaging of desire
Splits asunder, spilling crimson through my days.
Long, languishing days that are now bruised tender with yearning,
Spent searching for a fingerprint, a scent, a breath you left behind. — Shamim Sarif

The splendor of the rose and the whiteness of the lily
do not rob the little violet of it's scent nor the daisy of its simple charm.
If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness. — Therese De Lisieux

Life is an extraordinary gift some people appear not to appreciate. In every breath and scent, every touch and sight we are gifted by new experience and the chance to feel the richness of experience. Every sound we hear, from the song of a bird to the harshness of an angry voice, is a miracle. — Mohammed Bin Rashid Al Maktoum

She pushed the hair away, then began uncoiling and recoiling the silky mass with an unconscious, natural grace. Against the crude background of the alley, she was startlingly feminine and delicate, and with every movement of her arms and hair, her scent wove around Cullen - flowers and freshness and the subtle earthy warmth of woman It sank into him and hardened him with a primitive fierceness he hadn't experienced since his early teens. — Fiona Brand

I see you in every flower in the park, every color in a rainbow and in every scent that reminds me of the things I love. Without knowing how, or even why it happened, I can't imagine a world where you don't exist. — Denise Mathew

I would have kissed you harder. I would have fought for you more. I don't know. I would have stolen you away, taken your virtue, made myself so permanently etched on your person that every time you took a breath it was my scent that was permeating the air. — Rachel Van Dyken

The smell of a woman is her most important quality. I'd loved women who were old and who were young; those with extra kilos and large rumps, and others so thin there was barely even skin to pinch, and every time I held them, I worried I would snap them in two. But for all of these, where they had merited my love was in their delicious smell. Scent is such a powerful tool of attraction, that if a woman has this tool perfectly tuned, she needs no other. I will forgive her a large nose, a cleft lip, even crossed-eyes; and I'll bathe in the jouissance of her intoxicating odour. — Roman Payne

Every scent is the sun's scent. — Dejan Stojanovic

Separating her thighs. The scent of her arousal hardened every muscle in his body. He moved his hand down her hip and then to her hot, warm core. — Jayne Ann Krentz