He Smells Like Quotes & Sayings

Oh my gosh, he smells good, like some exotic but comforting spice, nutmeg or cardamom. Slowly Damian lowers his head to mine and I think my chest might explode, my heart is tap-dancing so quickly.
He's going to kiss me.
I've imagined this and now it's really happening, I am like a block of wood. I can't move. I can't breathe. I close my eyes as the lightest feather of a breath , then lips, brushing over my lips. His breath is sweet and the taste of coffee barely lingers in his mouth. I feel as though my whole body has turned to liquid, into a river of millions of droplets, rushing apart and then back together.
"You have the softest lips," he whispers as he pulls back to look at me.
"So do you," I murmur. Oh, was that a stupid thing to say? I turn my face into his jacket and breathe in his scent. — Lisa Ann Sandell

The honest and good man ought to be exactly like a man who smells strong, so that the bystander as soon as he comes near him must smell whether he choose or not. — Marcus Aurelius

His scent is intensified in here perfectly, baked by summer, preserved by snow, sealed and pressurized inside glass and metal. I inhale like a professional perfumer. Top notes of mint, bitter coffee, and cotton. Mid notes of black pepper and pine. Base notes of leather and cedar. Luxurious as cashmere. If this is what his car smells like, imagine his bed. Good idea. Imagine his bed. He — Sally Thorne

He did not like perfumed women. He was, after all, a man of hints, of mere suggestions of aromas, something that reaches the nose, then slips away at once, returning and disappearing with each light breeze. He kept his distance from smells that forced themselves on him, proclaiming their presence. He was intrigued by scents that made him search after them, preferring the concealed and the veiled to the pronounced and prominent. — Anat Talshir

Tell me, what smells like shit and screams like a girl? (Syn)
(He shot the Partini in the knee.)
That's right. You. (Syn) — Sherrilyn Kenyon

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 can't judge how beauty looks anymore," he said. "But I know the sound of it. It sounds like a flowing river of wild, sweet honey. Beauty smells like rosemary, and it tastes of nectar. Beauty sneezes like a flea." She smiled. That beautiful smile. How could she ever doubt her effect on him? "This is how plain you are. — Tessa Dare

They kissed deeply, but she pushed him away when he started to get grabby. "No, seriously, let me get a shower. My vagina smells like a set of nuts."
"Awesome." Cole laughed. — Debra Anastasia

Over his head towards the fire, seemed invoking some curse or some blessing on the toil. But, as Ahab looked up, he slid aside. "What's that bunch of lucifers dodging about there for?" muttered Stubb, looking on from the forecastle. "That Parsee smells fire like a fusee; and smells of it himself, like a hot musket's powder-pan." At last the shank, in one — Herman Melville

You want us to go in there
seriously?" He stared at the cave. "It smells like death. Horrible, farty death. — Andrea Cremer

Battered and bloody, we join Cassius, Lysander, and Sevro before the door leading out of the Sovereign's inner sanctum as Cassius types in the Olympic code to open the doors. He pauses to sniff the air. 'What's that smell?'
'Smells like a sewer,' I say.
Sevro stares intensely at the razors he's taken from Aja, including the one belonging to Lorn. 'I think it smells like victory.'
'Did you shit your pants?' Cassius squints at him. 'You did.'
'Sevro ... ' Mustang says.
'It's an involuntary muscle reaction when you're fake executed and swallow massive amounts ofhaemanthus oil,' Sevro snaps. 'You think I would do that on purpose?'
Cassius and I look at each other.
I shrug. 'Well, maybe.'
'Yeah, actually.'
He flips us the crux and makes a face, twisting his lips till it looks like he's going to explode. 'What's happening?' I ask. 'Are you ... still ... '
'No! — Pierce Brown

He stops his conversation with Grom and leans over to kiss my forehead. "How do you feel?"
"Hungry."
Rachel sets a plate full of eggs, jalapenos, bacon, cheese, and a bunch of other ingredients that a less-famished person might care about. I don't even blow on it before I spoon it into my mouth. As soon as I do, of course, Grom says, "Good morning, Emma."
I nod politely. "Goo monig," I tell him around my good.
Galen winks at me, then takes a bite of his own breakfast, which looks like a crab cake the size of his face. Also, it smells like dirty socks and sauerkraut. — Anna Banks

I'd make oatmeal cookies."
"Cookies?"
"I would. That's just what I would do."
"Why?"
He lifts one hand from the steering wheel and pinches his chin. "Because the world is changing so fast all the time. There's nothing you can do but just say, 'cool,' and roll with it. But some things can stay the same. Flour is still flour. Vanilla still smells like vanilla. Say a giant fireball is motoring toward us right now from Alha Centauri. Okay, universe. You expect us to run and scream and kill one another? Sorry, we're making oatmeal freaking cookies. — R.A. Nelson

Or what if he's weeping to himself in a lonely apartment somewhere, where his family never visits him because Grandpa Penumbra is weird and smells like books? — Robin Sloan

Shergahn and friend lay like poleaxed steers, and the Daranfelian's greasy hair was thick with potatoes, carrots, gravy, and chunks of beef. His companion had less stew in his hair, but an equally large lump was rising fast, and Brandark flipped his improvised club into the air, caught it in proper dipping position, and filled it once more from the pot without even glancing at them. He raised the ladle to his nose, inhaled deeply, and glanced at the cook with an impudent twitch of his ears.
"Smells delicious," he said while the laughter started up all around the fire. "I imagine a bellyful of this should help a hungry man sleep. Why, just look what a single ladle of it did for Shergahn! — David Weber

I fit my mouth to his and he tastes like water and smells like fresh air. I drag my hand from his neck to the small of his back and put it under his shirt. He kisses me harder. — Veronica Roth

[Love] feels . . ." I paused, turning the highlighter in my hand, "like an awakening of senses you never knew you had, and once they're awakened, you're never the same. The way you see the world is altered. Instead of riding down a road on your bike and thinking how the wind feels good on your face, you think, 'This is how it feels when he kisses my cheek.' You play a piece on the piano, and instead of imagining a crowd applauding, you only see him, sitting in the chair next to the piano, smiling at you. You catch the scent of sage in the air and think, 'This is how he smells.' But it's also kind of like being on a mousetrap ride. Exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. You smile and laugh and feel a thrill inside of you, all the while wondering in the back of your mind if the car will come off the track at the next turn, or if your harness will come open and you will be tossed to the ground to your death. — Sarah Beard

Back inside, I'm shown an antique cabinet in which members of the community, famous for their homegrown produce, dried herbs.
The Oneida Community was an upstate tourist attraction right from the start, second, Valesky says, to Niagara Falls. I'm taking the same guided tour offered a hundred and fifty years ago to prim rubbernecks who came here to peep at sex fiends. I wonder how many of my vacationing forebears went home disappointed? They thought they were taking the train to Gomorrah but instead they got to watch herbs dry. Valesky opens a drawer in the herb cabinet so I can get a whiff. He mentions that back in the day, when one tourist was shown the cabinet she rudely asked her community-member guide, "What's that odor?" To which the guide replied, "Perhaps it's the odor of crushed selfishness." Valesky grins. "How about that for a utopian answer?" To my not particularly utopian nose, crushed selfishness smells a lot like cilantro. — Sarah Vowell

It's Dana! She's back early." He ran his hand frantically over Mitch's neat, blonde hair. "What's she want? What's she doing here?
"Maybe she wants Reese's pot back"
"This is my chance! She's here alone. She wants me. Quick." He yanks my arm and dragged me to the stairs. I cried out in suprise.
"Get out of sight. Throw that away."
"I'm not throwing this away! Besides, you don't think she'll notice that your whole fucking house smells like this? Jesus. Your pupils are the size of her granny panties. Virtuous or not, she isn't stupid. — Richelle Mead

I suppose he'll die soon. I'm expecting it, like you do for a dog that's seventeen. There's no way to know how I'll react. He'll have faced his own placid death and slipped without a sound inside himself. Mostly, I imagine I'll crouch there at the door, fall onto him, and cry hard into the stench of his fur. I'll wait for him to wake up, but he won't. I'll bury him. I'll carry him outside, feeling his warmth turn to cold as the horizon frays and falls down in my backyard. For now, though, he's okay. I can see him breathing. He just smells like he's dead. — Markus Zusak

Oh, Frith help me!" said Fiver, trembling. "I can smell him from here. He terrifies me." "Oh, Fiver, don't be absurd! He just smells the same as the rest of them." "He smells like barley rained down and left to rot in the fields. He smells like a wounded mole that can't get underground." "He smells like a big, fat rabbit to me, with a lot of carrots inside. But I'll come with you. — Richard Adams

He smells safe, too, like sunlit walks in the orchard and silent breakfasts
in the dining hall. And in the moments before I drift off to sleep, I almost forget about our war-torn city and all the conflict that will
come to find us soon, if we don't find it first. — Veronica Roth

Fear,' he whispered. 'There is nothing quite like it. I love how it looks, I love how it feels, I love how it smells. And I especially love the sound of it.' I felt his tongue on my cheek. 'I even love the taste of it — B.A. Paris

Discovery is adventure. There is an eagerness, touched at times with tenseness, as man moves ahead into the unknown. Walking the wilderness is indeed like living. The horizon drops away, bringing new sights, sounds, and smells from the earth. When one moves through the forests, his sense of discovery is quickened. Man is back in the environment from which he emerged to build factories, churches, and schools. He is primitive again, matching his wits against the earth and sky. He is free of the restraints of society and free of its safeguards too. — William O. Douglas

The priest rose to take up the crucifix; at that, she strained her neck forward like someone who is thirsty, and, pressing her lips to the body of the Man-God, she laid upon it with all her expiring strength the most passionate kiss of love she had ever given. Then he recited the Miserateur and the Indulgentiam, dipped his right thumb in the oil, and began he unctions: first on the eyes, which had so coveted all earthly splendors; then on the nostrils, greedy for mild breezes and the smells of love; then on the mouth, which had opened to utter lies, which had moaned with pride and cried out in lust; then on the hands, which had delighted in the touch of smooth material; and lastly on the soles of the feet, once so quick when she hastened to satiate her desires and which now would never walk again. — Vladimir Nabokov

When you are interviewing someone, don't just write down what he says. Ask yourself: Does this guy remind you of someone? What does the room feel like? Notice smells, voice inflection, neighborhoods you pass through. Be a cinematographer. — Gene Weingarten

I love saunas,don't you?" he purred,leaning close to my face. "The heat." A lock of his dark hair stuck to my wet cheek. "The steam."
My heart knocked so hard against my chest that I could hardly stand it. "The scent of eucalyptus," I suggested before I thought about whether this added to the romance of the situation. "Smells like a bottle of my granddaddy's Old Spice that's been fermenting in his attic since 1969." I cringed.I just couldn't leave it alone and enjoy the moment,could I?
Nick pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. He nodded sagely. "I'll never think about this scent quite the same way,that's for sure."
But Nick had a one-track mind,and even my lame jokes couldn't distract him. One of his hands still moved on my tummy. The other picked up my hand and moved it to his thigh. Talk about a body like a rock. — Jennifer Echols

He has his father's distinctive good looks, like a badly made crash test dummy. He also smells like a funeral parlor, but that may be incidental. — John Connolly

I smile at the thought. And finally, there's a key. "To my heart and soul," he whispers. Tears prick my eyes. I launch myself at him, curling my arms around his neck and settling into his lap. "It's such a thoughtful present. I love it. Thank you," I murmur against his ear. Oh, he smells so good - clean, of fresh linen, body wash, and Christian. Like home, my home. My threatened tears begin to fall. — E.L. James

My head lands on his shoulder and I sniff him. He smells like comfort and calm and home. Goddamn, he smells like home. Not the home I left. No way in hell. But the home I wish he could somehow become. — Christina Lee

It is blissfully silent as Matt flutters his hands across my stomach and up the insides of my thigs, making me shiver. He smells like Downy fabric softener and sometimes tastes like it too ... He smells like clean comfort and tastes like flowers, mint and salt. His arms are hard, his hips and thighs are solod with muscle, mouth hot, tongue alive, and all I want is wanting when we are in the darnkess in the L. — Arlaina Tibensky

You look like a demented bunny," I told him."What are you doing?"
"You switched to lemon shampoo."
I blinked, thought back to my morning shower,which felt like years ago.He was right.His hands were clenched, but his voice was soft and husky. He turned his head away, was close enough that his hair brushed my cheek.
"Smells good. — Alyxandra Harvey

James Cain - faugh! Everything he touches smells like a billygoat. He is every kind of writer I detest, a faux naix, a Proust in greasy overalls, a dirty little boy with a piece of chalk and a board fence and nobody looking. Such people are the offal of literature, not because they write about dirty things, but because they do it in a dirty way. — Raymond Chandler

Like many writers, Hemingway thought of his craft as a trade that he was continually learning and at the mercy of. He told his son Gregory of his own try at writing, "Writing's got to flow and come easy if it's good and this stuff 'smells of the lamp.' You know that old phrase - smells like you've been up all night working on it over a kerosene lamp" (James, — Kathleen Dixon Donnelly

Cities were like women, he insisted; each one had its own unique scent. Oldtown was as flowery as a perfumed dowager. Lannisport was a milkmaid, fresh and earthy, with woodsmoke in her hair. King's Landing reeked like some unwashed whore. But White Harbor's scent was sharp and salty, and a little fishy too. "She smells the way a mermaid ought to smell," Roro said. "She smells of the sea. — George R R Martin

Malcolm chuckled wickedly. "You, my American friend, are like a hidden landmine of sex appeal. I'm going to have to look out for you."
"Too late." Owen raised his face to the unfamiliar smells, breezes, sounds of the city, enjoying them even more now that he knew something of it and it had become personal to him. "I've already exploded. You're caught."
He tilted his head back and laughed, inviting Malcolm to share the joke, but Malcolm was unusually quiet ... — Amy Lane

Shall I tell you the secret of true love? her father once asked her. A friend of mine liked to tell me that women love flowers. He had many flirtations, but he never found a wife. Do you know why? Because women may love flowers, but only one woman loves the scent of gardenias in late summer that remind her of her grandmother's porch. Only one woman loves apple blossoms in a blue cup. Only one woman loves wild geraniums. That's Mama! Inej had cried. Yes, Mama loves wild geraniums because no other flower has quite the same color, and she claims that when she snaps the stem and puts a sprig behind her ear, the whole world smells like summer. Many boys will bring you flowers. But someday you'll meet a boy who will learn your favorite flower, your favorite song, your favorite sweet. And even if he is too poor to give you any of them, it won't matter because he will have taken the time to know you as no one else does. Only that boy earns your heart. That — Leigh Bardugo

Traffic's not too bad on Sheridan, and I'm cornering the car like it's the Indy 500, and we're listening to my favorite NMH song, "Holland, 1945," and then onto Lake Shore Drive, the waves of Lake Michigan crashing against the boulders by the Drive, the windows cracked to get the car to defrost, the dirty, bracing, cold air rushing in, and I love the way Chicago smells - Chicago is brackish lake water and soot and sweat and grease and I love it, and I love this song, and Tiny's saying I love this song, and he's got the visor down so he can muss up his hair a little more expertly. — John Green

I remember the first time I saw the 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' video. I will never forget that day. I just wanted to see Kurt Cobain's face. I had a feeling he was very cute. But, I couldn't see his face. When I finally did see him, he was even cuter than I imagined! — Shakira

You foreigners," he said. "You come to China and complain about the
pollution, but I don't know why." He then gestured at the blurred
landscape around us. "To me, this place smells like money. — Paul Midler

It smells not of decay but of disappearing, of disintegration. An invisible eating away. But that's not how it works, it doesn't eat away like acid. It gets into the metabolism of things and overstimulates them until they die. It hyper-accelerates growth until the organism is undone. Herbicide, he thinks, is a better word than defoliant, but neither conveys the endless insinuation of the stuff, the occupation. He breathes the dank spray
it's heavy, oily, metallic. It almost doesn't smell, but it clings to you, gets between you and your sweat then sinks into your skin. — Dana Spiotta

Alec licked his spoon, then set it on the table and popped his drink open. "Okay, I may be breaking some kind of girl bonding rule or something, but can I offer you a guy's perspective on this?"
I frowned, my spoon halfway to my mouth. "Is this gonna make me want to hit you?"
He shrugged. "Maybe. But it's the truth. Here goes: kissing back is an instinct. Unless the girl smells like a sewer or has tentacles feeling you up independently, a guy's first instinct is to kiss back. That's how it works. What's important is how long that kissing back lasted. So ... how long? — Rachel Vincent

What's green and smells like pork?" Relieved that he's engaging, I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. "What?" "Kermit's finger." "Eew." I laugh as I bat his arm. "That is vile. — Kristen Callihan

Because he smells fantastic - like warm pears and crisp air. — Kristen Callihan

He always had some experiment or another on the go, usually involving boiling liquids and unpleasant smells. Always something bubbling in the cauldron or cooking in the small stone oven. One wall was hidden behind rows of metal cages, set one upon the other; containing animals and birds and reptiles and a few other things not so easily identified. Because you never knew when you'd need a subject to try something out on. And of course there were shelves and shelves of glass jars, holding herbs and insect parts, mandrake root and other disturbing things. Some of the things in the jars were still moving. Because alchemy's like that. — Simon R. Green

I have your gun" I pulled the Ruger out of my bag and gave it to Ranger. He held the gun flat in his hand and looked at it. "It smells like orange blossoms."
"I washed it and sprayed it with air freshener"
"You washed it?"
"I wore rubber gloves and scrubbed it with my vegetable brush. It was.. icky"
He yanked open the driver's side door, pulled me out of the car, and kissed me. The kiss involved tongue, and a hand on my ass, and made my nipples tingle.
"I can always count on you to brighten my day" Ranger said.
Ranger drove off, and I got back into the Buick.
"That was hot," Lula said. "Imagine what he'd do if you washed his Glock
After Stephanie threw up on Rangers gun. — Janet Evanovich

He just seems as cool as ever. I can smell him. Even on the other side, there is smell. Like, when babies are born, there's two smells-one is chicken soup, which is the flesh, and the other is lilacs, which is coming from the spiritual garden. The spirit has a lilac smell. — Carlos Santana

Syn watched the Partini closely as the alien lunged for him. He caught the alien's wrist before the knife could make contact with his skin. The Partini tried to pull loose, but Syn held fast with one hand. "Tell me," he asked snidely, "what smells like shit and screams like a girl?" He shot the Partini in the knee. The Partini screamed like a woman meeting her long-lost best friend as he crumpled to the street, his poisoned knife falling on the concrete with a metallic clink. Syn kicked the knife into the darkness, out of the assassin's reach. "That's right. You." The — Sherrilyn Kenyon

I find her asleep in a suite beside Jupiter's own. Her golden hair is wild. Her cloak dirtier than my own. It hangs brown and gray, not white. She smells like smoke and hunger. She's destroyed the room, upturned a dish of food, buried her dagger into the door. The Brown and Pink servants are scared of her, and me. I watch them skitter away. My distant cousins. I see them move, alien things. Like ants. So void of emotion. I feel a pang.
Perspective is a wicked creature.
This is how Augustus saw Eo as he killed her. An ant. No. He called her a "Red bitch." She was like a dog in his eyes. — Pierce Brown

Samuel glanced at him. "That's right," he said. "Set your teeth in it. How we do defend a wrongness! Shall I tell you what you do, so you will not think you invented it? When you go to bed and blow out the lamp - then she stands in the doorway with a little light behind her, and you can see her nightgown stir. And she comes sweetly to your bed, and you, hardly breathing, turn back the covers to receive her and move your head over on the pillow to make room for her head beside yours. You can smell the sweetness of her skin, and it smells like no other skin in the world - — John Steinbeck

When you don't have something anymore, you learn to live without it." That's what my dad told me that first night after he found me sleeping inside a closet underneath a pile of my mom's clothes. All the different smells of her were still there and the memories were alive even if she wasn't.
I looked up into his face and wondered why would I ever want to learn to live without her? That felt like she really would be gone forever, and I wanted to limp on the broken piece of me so I could feel her there all the time. — Alan Silberberg

And Rusty is a douche! And the wind in my hair smells like whoosh!"
Cade laughed, "Don't you mean sounds?"
"What sounds?"
"Nevermind," he chuckled — Cora Carmack

Dad had once said, Trust your mind, Rob. If it smells like shit but has writing across it that says Happy Birthday and a candle stuck down in it, what is it?
Is there icing on it? he'd said.
Dad had done that thing of squinting his eyes when an answer was not quite there yet. — George Saunders

These were wild aromas, far from the schoolroom, church building, or city. Like a secret handshake, these smells meant you were among a higher class. Men who were the best men Wilder knew. The kind of man he wanted, and intended, to be. — S.J. Dahlstrom

Little things at first. Sunlight. Melodies. Smells. They'll awaken something inside you. An image will flash. Then you'll remember deeper things. Like how you felt when he touched you. Kissed you."

I grip the armrests of the chair, trying to stay cool. "Would you stop?"

"I thought you'd want to be prepared. Those memories, they're going to feel real. And you may start having urges--"

"Oh god, please don't use that word. Why are adults always using that word?"

"What word? Urges?"

"Gah." I plus my ears.

She shrugs. "I'm just saying."

"Stop saying. And stop planting stuff in my head."

"She raises a sharp eyebrow. "I'm planting stuff in you head now? How very sci-fi of me. — M.G. Buehrlen

I'd say, Ceony," he said after swallowing, "had I not been present for the lessons, I'd think you'd found a way to enchant pasta." Ceony smiled. "You like it?" He nodded, scooping up another bite. "It tastes just as good as it smells. That's a sign of a well-rounded person. I should congratulate you." "On my person or my pasta?" - The Paper Magician — Charlie N. Holmberg

He thinks my hair smells like spring rain. I'm really trying to remain stoic and unaffected. I remind myself that I don't like poetic language. I don't like poetry. I don't even like people who like poetry.
But I'm not dead inside either. — Nicola Yoon

And he discovered, finally, the source of the honey-sweet sound.
The sound was music.
The sound was King Phillip playing his guitar and singing for his daughter, the Princess Pea, every night before she fell asleep.
Hidden in a hole in the wall of the princess's bedroom, the mouse listened with all his heart. The sound of the King's music made Despereaux's soul grow large and light inside of him.
Oh," he said, "it sounds like heaven. It smells like honey. — Kate DiCamillo

What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fishlike smell; a kind of not of the newest poor-John. A strange fish! — William Shakespeare

People associate long hair with drug use. I wish people associated long hair with something other than drug use, like an extreme longing for cake. And then strangers would see a long haired guy and say, "That guy eats cake!" "He is on bundt cake!" Mothers saying to their daughters, "Don't bring the cake eater over here anymore. He smells like flour. Did you see how excited he got when he found out your birthday was fast approaching?" — Mitch Hedberg

Romeo had the attention span of a slice of bread.
Which is none at all.
Every time I start to explain something, it's like not only his eyes glazed over, but his entire body. At one point, I wondered if it were possible for him to be asleep with his eyes open.
And God, he smelled good. — Cambria Hebert

He loved Clara. I miss a lot in life," said Gilbert. "But I have a nose for love." "Like a truffle pig," said Beauvoir, then regretted it when he saw the asshole saint's reaction. Then, unexpectedly, Gilbert smiled. "Exactly. I can smell it. Love has an aroma all its own, you know." Beauvoir looked at Gilbert, amazed by what he'd just heard. Maybe, he thought, this man was - "Smells like compost," said Gilbert. - an asshole after all. — Louise Penny

I can feel him. He feels real. He smells like wet cat. He has fingers. Cats do not have fingers. — Katherine Applegate

Yes, I know," he said, impatient. "I am going to rend you from limb to limb. Someday. When I feel like it. In the meantime, you will not faint, you will get warm, and you will stop being distressed." His nostrils pinched. "I don't like how it smells. — Thea Harrison

The Nantucketer, he alone resides and riots on the sea; he alone, in Bible language, goes down to it in ships; to and fro ploughing it as his own special plantation. There is his home; there lies his business, which a Noah's flood would not interrupt, though it overwhelmed all the millions in China. He lives on the sea, as prairie cocks in the prairie; he hides among the waves, he climbs them as chamois hunters climb the Alps. For years he knows not the land; so that when he comes to it at last, it smells like another world, more strangely than the moon would to an Earthman. With the landless gull, that at sunset folds her wings and is rocked to sleep between billows; so at nightfall the Nantucketer, out of sight of land, furls his sails, and lays him to his rest, while under his very pillow rush herds of walruses and whales. — Herman Melville

The tub must be very heavy. His biceps strain against his sleeves, like he's Bruce Banner mid-Hulkifying, and the veins stand out on his neck. The water smells faintly of rose petals. He uses a lemonade pitcher decorated with smiley-faced suns as a ladle, and I lean my head back for him. He starts to work in the shampoo, and I push his hands away. This part I can do myself. — Rick Yancey

His thumb smoothed over the tiny red marks the pins had made on her palm, and he brought her hand to his face to kiss the little sore spots.
His voice curled hotly inside her palm. "Your hand smells like lemons."
She opened her eyes and stared at him gravely. "I scrub my hands with lemon juice to remove the ink stains."
The information seemed to amuse him, and lights of humor mixed with the heat in his gaze. — Lisa Kleypas

He smells so damn good. Like my favorite song. — Diana T. Scott

Grace, did you just sniff my shirt?" He asked, incredulous.
"Yep, I did. What of it? And after you leave, I'll probably lay on your side for a while because the pillow smells like you. I'm ridiculous when I'm in love. We're talking Hallmark over here. — Alice Clayton

What every girl should know: Your vagina is disgusting. It smells like the underside of a kangaroo pouch and he doesn't want to touch you because of the grossness. But thankfully, NEW brand douche, perfected by a leading gynecologist, gently cleanses and refreshes, making you feel feminine and special. Because what's more special than a vage filled with vinegar and chemical daisies? Also available in SPICY CINNAMON TACO, for the girl adventurer. — Kelly Sue DeConnick

You know what, you need to stay out of my bedroom. You have your own."
He smiled. "I know I do. I see it quite often. I just prefer your bed. It smells better."
I made a face. "It smells better? What does your bed smell like? Regret and bad taste? — Jennifer L. Armentrout

Why books?"
Her brows rose. "I beg your pardon?"
"Why are they your vice?"
She set her plate down and wiped her hand on her skirts before reaching for the top volume on a stack of small, leather bound books nearby and extending it to him. "Go on."
He took it. "Now what?"
"Smell it." He tilted his head. She couldn't help but smile. "Do it."
He lifted it to his nose. Inhaled.
"Not like that," she said. "Really give it a smell."
He raised one brow but did as he was told.
"What do you smell?" Sophie asked.
"Leather and ink?"
She shook her head. "Happiness. That's what books smells like. Happiness. That's why I always wanted to have a book shop. What better life than to trade in happiness? — Sarah MacLean

Wolverine is a jerk!! And he smells like beers! — Chris Yost

(On Captain Britain) Every British person thinks he's got the same accent as them. The air around him is warm like a summer meadow. He smells of honey. I've seen grown men weep at the sight of him. — Paul Cornell

This smells like shit," MacRuairi said, smearing the black seal grease over his naked skin. They'd bundled their armor and weapons in a pack to keep them dry when they crossed the river. The seal grease would not only help them blend into the darkness, it protected them from the cold December waters.
"You'll be grateful for in in a few minutes." MacSorley grinned. "The water will freeze your bollocks off."
"Which shouldn't be a problem for you anymore," MacRuairi said dryly.
"Damn, cousin, was that a joke?" MacSorley shook his head. "It does snow in hell."
MacRuairi muttered something under his breath as he finished applying the grease. — Monica McCarty

So, like I asked, what's with the nightie?"
"It smells like what I always think mothers smell like," I tell him honestly, knowing I don't have to explain.
He nods. "My mum has one just the same and you have no idea how disturbing it is that it's turning me on. — Melina Marchetta

He smells like night-blooming flowers
Crushed, juicy petals on the pillows
His voice is full of ocean
Humming like the surf
He kneels before me like I am his goddess
He is a god — Francesca Lia Block

I let her through. She checked Derek's pulse and his breathing, saying both seemed okay, then leaned down to his face.
"Nothing weird on his breath. Smells ... like toothpaste."
Derek's eyes opened, and the first thing he saw was Tori's face inches from his. He jumped and let out an oath. Simon cracked up. I madly motioned for him to be quiet.
"Are you okay?" I asked Derek.
"He is now," Simon said. "After Tori jump-started his heart. — Kelley Armstrong

He was in love with aspects of her. Andre wasn't capable of expressing himself like other people. He dreamt in smells, he heard music in colours. — Kathleen Tessaro

Breathe, Cassie, breathe. He has a good face. Not the face of someone who wants to hurt you. If he wanted to hurt you, he wouldn't have brought you here and stuck an IV in you to keep you hydrated, and the sheets feel nice and clean, and so what took your clothes and dressed you in this cotton nightie, what did you expect him to do? Your clothes were filthy, like you, only you're not anymore, and your skin smells a little like lilacs, which means holy Christ he BATHED you. — Rick Yancey

Derek, you just don't say things like that to a woman. Keep going this way and you'll spend your life alone."
"Don't change the subject. Andrea is cool. And she smells nice. It will be okay."
Apparently I was supposed to sniff people to determine their competence. "How do you know?"
He shrugged. "You just have to trust her. — Ilona Andrews

This morning, Tegus welcomed me again with an arm clasp and cheek touch. I wasn't startled this time, and I breathed in at his neck. How can I describe the scent of his skin? He smells something like cinnamon
brown and dry and sweet and warm. Ancestors, is it wrong for me to imagine laying my head on his chest and closing my eyes and breathing in his smell? — Shannon Hale

Isaac is touch, and he is sound. He is smell and he is sight. I tried to make him a single sense like I did with everyone else, but he is all of them. He overpowers my senses and that is exactly why I ran from him. I was afraid of feeling brightly - afraid I would become used to the color and sounds and smells, and they would be taken from me. I was a self-fulfilling prophecy; destroying before I could be destroyed. I wrote about women like that, I didn't realize I was one. — Tarryn Fisher

I make grilled cheeses for lunch, one for me, two for Will. We don't have any chips, but I find a far of pickles in the pantry.
"This is the best thing I've ever eaten." He pauses for a drink, staring at me over the rim of his glass of juice.
"It's the provolone," I say, swallowing my last bite.
"It's the chef."
I smile and look away.
We listen to music. Talk. Kiss until my flesh glimmers gold-red. Warms to the touch from the deep scald at my core. He stops to watch. Leans his face close to my neck and smells my skin. Like I'm something he might taste. He sweeps his hands along my arms ... making me burn hotter.
"Is this what it's like for other fire-breathers?" he asks, winks, holding my hand up in his broad palm. "Or is it just me and my magic hands? — Sophie Jordan

I realize how close my face is to his back. I can smell him, and fuck, he smells like man dipped in chocolate, covered with fuckable sprinkles. — Bella Jewel

I bury my face in my hands. And then Ryan does such a nice thing. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in against him. I can feel his body heat through his cotton T-shirt, and directly in front of me are the worn, faded knees of his jeans. But most of all, I can smell him. And he smells sandy-warm, like a beach. No one can see my face in there protected by his chest. Which is good because I can't stop crying. I mean, I'm really going for the world record in terms of an inappropriate public breakdown. But it doesn't matter, it just doesn't matter. I'm sheltered. — Kirsty Eagar

Pbbtlt.
"It smells like ham, Glo said. It must be Hatchet"
Hatchet moved out of the shadows. "My intent was to capture and torture for information, but you have made my job easy. I now know the clue and can give this information to my master."
"He's not going to believe you," Glo said. "You fart."
Hatchet stood tall with one hand on his sword. "Everyone doth fart."
"Not like you," Glo said. "You're a ham farter."
Hatchet pressed his lips together. "Tis a manly fart. — Janet Evanovich

... my face is buried in the soft material of his shirt and my cheek is pressed against his chest and he smells like strength and courage and the world drowning in rain. — Tahereh Mafi

The most annoying person on the BBC is Russell Brand, I've actually been close up to that boy. He smells like when you mix garlic with coffee and alcohol. I'm just saying when you get close to him, he could do with a bit of Sure For Men, he stinks. — Noel Gallagher

Are you cold?" he asks, turning toward me to run the backs of his fingers up and down my upper arm, as if testing the temperature of my skin. "Here," he says, taking off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders. The jacket is warm and heavy and smells just like Nash, like whatever cologne or soap he uses. I figure it must be called delicious, maybe by Armani or some other fancy designer. It almost makes my mouth water. "Is that better?" He wraps his arm around me, too, as if to ensure I won't be cold. Of course, I won't complain. Even if I was sweating, I wouldn't complain.
"That's much better, thank you. — M. Leighton

Because tonight is perfect.
The sun is really setting now and it's beautiful. The oranges and reds and golds are shining over the horizon and onto our skin and everything is romantic and dreamy.
It's like a dream, actually.
I lean up and kiss Dante's cheek and he smells like the ocean and the salt and the sun. And maybe the woodsy scent of the olive groves. I sigh. There's no way that life gets any better than this. I settle back into his side for the drive and he wraps his arm around me. — Courtney Cole

I'm sick of them. I never want to see them again. Except Aros; he smells nice. And Rome; because he's so strong I'm pretty sure not even Rau can get past him. I don't need the others. Except Siret. I'm pretty sure he hates me, but he's really good at catching me like just before I face-plant into something. But the others, I don't need them. Not at all." I paused, my brow furrowing, my mouth pursing, and then I quickly blurted, "Except Coen and Yael. Coen is really good at making decisions, and if I leave out Yael he'll probably hunt me down and haunt me-"
"That's all of them," Emmy interrupted smoothly. — Jaymin Eve

Pretty soon the only people left without a girlfriend will be me and Wendell the school janitor, and he smells like windex."
"At least you know he's still available. — Cassandra Clare

He leaned in for a sniff. 'Smells like a horse's arse! I've got Ian!' -'No sniffing allowed! We never discussed sniffing! I cry foul!' Ian was outraged. 'I'm not giving you a shilling!' -'Give him a shilling! It's not his fault you smell like a horse's arse! — Julie Anne Long

There she was, welcoming him in, farting prrrrrrp like ten thousand earthquakes, belching arrrp and og like a million volcanoes, while the whole universe roared with approving laughter. She swung tits like sagging moons at him, drew from black teeth an endless snake of bacon-rind, pelted him with balls of ear-wax and snuffled green snot in his direction. The thrones roared and the powers were helpless. Enderby was suffocated by smells: sulphuretted hydrogren, unwashed armpits, halitosis, faeces, standing urine, putrefying meat - all thrust into his mouth and nostrils in squelchy balls. 'Help,' he tried to call. 'Help help help.' He fell, crawled, crying, 'Help, help.' The black, which was solid laughter and filth, closed on him. He gave one last scream before yielding to it. — Anthony Burgess

He smells like Speed Stick, shampoo, and all I've ever wanted. — Sarah Tregay

I know what it feels like to miss everything about him
the way he smells, the way his mouth curls up when he laughs, his voice. — Travis Neighbor Ward

I pull him closer, grab a fistful of his jacket and kiss him as hard as I can, my fingers already attempting to release the first of his buttons. Warner grips my hips and allows his hands to conquer my body. He tastes peppermint, smells like gardenias. His arms are strong around me, his lips soft, almost sweet against my skin. There's an electric charge between us I hadn't anticipated. My head is spinning. His lips are on my neck, tasting me, devouring me, and I force myself to think straight. — Tahereh Mafi

It smells like... I think it's bile. Tooms must have taken it from his victims' livers.'
'Oh,' Mulder said. He sounded a little sick. 'Do you think there's any way I can quickly get it off my finger without betraying my cool exterior?'... Mulder hastily wiped his hand on the floor. — Ellen Steiber

It wasn't beautiful people like Celeste who were drawing Jane's eyes, but ordinary people and the beautiful ordinariness of their bodies. A tanned forearm with a tattoo of the sun reaching out across the counter at the service station. The back of an older's man neck in a queue at the supermarket. Calf muscles and collarbones. It was the strangest thing. She was reminder of her father, who years ago had an operation on his sinuses that returned the sense of smell he hadn't realized he'd lost. The simplest smells sent him into rhapsodies of delight. He kept sniffing Jane's mother's neck and saying dreamily, I'd forgotten your mother's smell! I didn't know I'd forgotten it! — Liane Moriarty