Perfuming Quotes & Sayings

I haven't been drinking for years now. Something's got to give. I don't mind that I'm a guy that's stopped drinking, though this interview is making me mighty thirsty. — Dan Hicks

Young people have an almost biological destiny to be hopeful. — Marshall Ganz

For violence, like Achilles' lance, can heal the wounds it has inflicted. — Frantz Fanon

I'll stay," I said. "As long as I'm wanted. — C.L.Stone

Did people think I sounded black? Totally, but that was a marketing tool as well, but also this is how I grew up and these are my influences. — Taylor Dayne

Now the summer's in prime Wi' the flowers richly blooming, And the wild mountain thyme A' the moorlands perfuming. To own dear native scenes Let us journey together, Where glad innocence reigns 'Mang the braes o' Balquhither. — Robert Tannahill

Honor your joy today, whilst it replenishes and strengthens you - in the company of your Soul. — Eleesha

A human life was measured out in bouquets, was it not? New mothers received them. So did graduating seniors, young lovers, blushing brides, and the dead. A flower woman was time's avatar, colorizing the hours, perfuming fleeting instants. — James K. Morrow

The truly great man is he who would master no one, and who would be mastered by none. — Khalil Gibran

Every life is a profession of faith ... — Henri Frederic Amiel

Hunting trophies are deceased wild animals," said the man next to her, "skinned and mounted on the wall. — Annabel Joseph

Werther identifies himself with the madman, with the footman. As a reader, I can identify myself with Werther. Historically, thousands of subjects have done so, suffering, killing themselves, dressing, perfuming themselves, writing as if they were Werther (songs, poems, candy boxes, belt buckles, fans, colognes a' la Werther). A long chain of equivalences links all the lovers in the world. In the theory of literature, "projection" (of the reader into the character) no longer has any currency: yet it is the appropriate tonality of imaginative readings: reading a love story, it is scarcely adequate to say I project myself; I cling to the image of the lover, shut up with his image in the very enclosure of the book (everyone knows that such stories are read in a state of secession, of retirement, of voluptuous absence: in the toilet). — Roland Barthes

We must realize that artists are not in competition with each other. Help the young artists - find for them means to make their financial ways easier, that they may develop and fruit their fullest - but let us not ask them to please us in doing it. — Robert Henri

I'd once overheard my daddy tell my momma that the six Winston boys had inherited their father's ability to charm snakes, the IRS, and women. — Penny Reid

He was in a beastly hole. But decency demanded that he shouldn't act in panic. He had a mechanical, normal panic that made him divest himself of money. Gentlemen don't earn money. Gentlemen, as a matter of fact, don't do anything. They exist. Perfuming the air like Madonna lilies. Money comes into them as air through petals and foliage. Thus the world is made better and brighter. And, of course, thus political life can be kept clean! ... So you can't make money. — Ford Madox Ford

I don't know, Mom. Now that I'm about to graduate, I plan on being more spontaneous."
Mom opened her eyes and burst out laughing.
I said, "Got spontaneity on the calendar for next Tuesday. — Lara Avery

A man cannot do good before he is made good. — Martin Luther

In my humdrum life I was exalted one day by perfumes exhaled by a world that had been so bland. They were the troubling heralds of love. Suddenly love itself had come, with its roses and its flutes, sculpting, papering, closing, perfuming everything around it. Love had blended with the most immense breath of the thoughts themselves, the respiration that, without weakening love, had made it infinite. But what did I know about love itself? Did I, in any way, clarify its mystery, and did I know anything about it other than the fragrance of its sadness and the smell of its fragrances? Then, love went away, and the perfumes, from shattered flagons, were exhaled with a purer intensity. The scent of a weakened drop still impregnates my life. — Marcel Proust