Smelling You Quotes & Sayings

Human beings act very much like storms when there's something to say. Very rarely in nature does a deluge catch you by complete surprise. There are the signs before
the sky darkening, the wind picking up, the air smelling like rain even before a drop has hit. — David Levithan

Have you ever felt as if your dreams were more memorable, more alive, than what you knew to be reality? Have your dreams ever seemed so tangible as to make you question upon waking if you'd truly only dreamt them? Have they at times been addictive enough to consume your waking hours; blurring actuality and pretend together until your wishes and passions stare back at you with open eyes?
If only dreams could be reality, that beautiful garden of sweet-smelling roses we all long for. But reality for me is no such bed of roses. It is nothing but a field of unwanted dandelions.
- From the thoughts of Annabelle Fancher — Richelle E. Goodrich

The act of smelling something, anything, is remarkably like the act of thinking. Immediately at the moment of perception, you can feel the mind going to work, sending the odor around from place to place, setting off complex repertories through the brain, polling one center after another for signs of re recognition, for old memories and old connection. — Lewis Thomas

You're just smelling for smoke
so you can follow the trail
back to a burning house,
so you can find the boy
who lost everything in the fire
to see if you can save him.
Or else
find the boy
who lit the fire
in the first place,
to see if you
can change him. — Sarah Kay

Son
they say there isn't any royalty in this country, but do you want me to tell you how to be king of the United States of America? Just fall through the hole in a privy and come out smelling like a rose. — Kurt Vonnegut

My interest is, my one hobby is, maintaining a democracy. If you get these 500,000 soldiers advocating anything smelling of Fascism, I am going to get 500,000 more and lick the hell out of you, and we will have a real war right at home. — Smedley Butler

In America: each year the day before school after summer vacation I sat on my bed touching my notebooks, pencils, ruler-holding the stern and sweet smelling brown oxfords in my lap and spreading my skirt and blouse and underwear and socks before me. My mother would come in and always say the same thing: "Free paper burn now."
Such words conspire to make a past.
Such words conjure a knowledge.
Such words make assimilation impossible. They stay with you for years. They puzzle but you sense a significance. I need these words. — Michelle Cliff

I'm having this conversation with you now. I'm talking, but I'm thinking, feeling, smelling, and moving. Yet I'm concentrating on what you're saying. So that means there's more things going on in the body than just the present thing that the person's got you doing. — Ornette Coleman

Agent Jones switched to the big screen and a grainy video of MoMo sitting at his enormous desk, a swivel-hipped Elvis clock ticking behind his bewigged head. 'Death to the capitalist pigs! Death to your cinnamon bun-smelling malls! Death to your power walking and automatic car windows and I'm With Stupid T-shirts! The Republic of ChaCha will never bend to your side-of-fries -drive -through-please-oh-would-you-like-ketchup-with-that corruption! MoMo B. ChaCha defies you and all you stand for, and one day, you will crumble into the sea and we will pick up the pieces and make them into sand art. — Libba Bray

Can you spell everything?" asked Milo admiringly.
"Just about," replied the bee with a hint of pride in his voice. "You see, years ago I was just an ordinary bee minding my own business, smelling flowers all day, and occasionally picking up part-time work in people's bonnets. Then one day I realized that I'd never amount to anything without an education and, being naturally adept at spelling, I decided that - — Norton Juster

And let me tell you something. That first morning, when you are in your country of choice, away from all of the conventions of atypical, everyday lifestyle, looking around at your totally new surroundings, hearing strange languages, smelling strange, new smells, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. You'll feel like the luckiest person in the world. — Rolf Potts

Thank you for getting me," I try to say. My lips are so tired they don't want to move.
"Anytime,Zara.Really.I mean it." He seems to be smelling my hair.
"I know you hate me and everything but we should be friends," I tell him, closing my eyes.
"I don't hate you," he says. "That's not it at all."
"What is it then? Are you a victim of parthenophobia?"
"Parthenophobia?"
"Fear of girls."
"You are so strange." He moves back even closer to me, this wicked glint in his eyes like he's trying hard not to snort-laugh at me. His hand presses against the side of my head. Nobody has ever touched me like this before, all gentle and romantic, but strong at the same time. "I'm not afraid of girls."
"Then why haven't you kissed any?"
For a second his eyes flash. "Maybe the right one hasn't come around yet. — Carrie Jones

All they get around here is stories. Stories don't make you bleed. Stories don't make you go hungry, don't give you sore feet. When you're young smelling of pigshit and convinced there ain't a weapon in all the damn world that's going to hurt you, all stories do is make you want to be part of them. — Steven Erikson

Even creating shit is hard to do. First, you need money to buy food. Then you have to chew it, eat it, and swallow. A complex process called digestion follows. Finally, you have to strain and excrete your foul smelling wonder into the world. Try doing that with a paint brush! — Jonathan Heatt

There, now, father, you won't work in it till it's all easy," said Eppie, "and you and me can mark out the beds, and make holes and plant the roots. It'll be a deal livelier at the Stone-pits when we've got some flowers, for I always think the flowers can see us and know what we're talking about. And I'll have a bit o' rosemary, and bergamot, and thyme, because they're so sweet-smelling; but there's no lavender only in the gentlefolks' gardens, I think. — George Eliot

There was a wonderful atmosphere of gentle age, a smell of flowers and beeswax, sweet yet faintly sour and musty; a smell that makes you feel very tender towards the past. — Dodie Smith I Capture The Castle

Eating pizza is like having a little heaven in your nose. Wait, that's not what you eat pizza with. I always get it confused with pizza-pie. — Will Advise

Desperation is the perfume of the young actor. It's so satisfying to have gotten rid of it. If you keep smelling it, it can drive you crazy. In this business a lot of people go nuts, go eccentric, even end up dead from it. Not my plan. — Uma Thurman

I was dead. That was really the only explanation I had for the sensation that I was lying in a comfy bed, cool, clean-smelling sheets pulled up to my chin, and a soft hand stroking my hair.
That was nice. Being dead seemed pretty sweet, all things considered. Especially if ti meant I got to nap for all eternity. I snuggled deeper into the covers. The hand on my hair moved to my back, and I realized someone was singing softly. The voice was familiar, and something about it made my chest ache. Well, that was to be expected. Angels' songs would be awfully poignant.
"'I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar, when I met you ... '" the voice crooned.
I frowned. Was that really an appropriate song for the Heavenly Host to be-
Realization crashed into me. "Mom! — Rachel Hawkins

A letter doesn't communicate by words alone. A letter, just like a book, can be read by smelling it, touching it and fondling it. Thereby, intelligent folk will say, 'Go on then, read what the letter tells you!' whereas the dull-witted will say, 'Go on then, read what he's written! — Orhan Pamuk

Are you smelling me?" After yesterday I suspected that my body was giving him all kinds of information I didn't want him to have.
"Don't tempt me," he murmured. — Deborah Harkness

It doesn't bother me," I said. "If you don't mind looking forty years old at twenty, smelling like an ashtray, and getting lung cancer, why should I? — Michelle Hodkin

I like the feeling of hunger for it reminds me of all those hundreds of months without you.

Missing you, thinking of you, like a friendly lonely thin tiger smelling the slip of a season into a new season. — Waylon H. Lewis

You look pensive," he said quietly, holding his hand out from where he lay on the bed. He wore only his shirt and breeches. She went to him without protest. Why pretend when they really had so little time left together? He gathered her against him, her back to his front, and began plucking the pins from her coiffure. "Have I told you how much I admire your hair?" "It's just plain brown," she murmured. "Plain, lovely brown," he replied, raising a lock he'd freed to his face. "Are you smelling my hair?" she asked in amusement. "Yes." "Silly man," she said lightly. "Smitten man," he corrected, spreading her hair over her shoulders. "I've been watching you today." "In between escorting Miss Royle about the garden?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him. "Yes. I'd rather it'd been you, but that wouldn't've been prudent." He frowned down at the strands of her hair caught between his fingers. "Or, perhaps, safe. — Elizabeth Hoyt

If you don't mind smelling like peanut butter for two or three days, peanut butter is darn good shaving cream. — Barry Goldwater

You being creepy and smelling my hair again," Kiersten said in a groggy voice.

"Not creepy," I argued.

"Very creepy," Gabe said from the chair. "I watched the whole thing and I am sufficiently creeped out."

"It's romantic, damn it!" Lisa all but shouted. — Rachel Van Dyken

Smelling a crayon takes you right back to childhood. When I need to go back in time, I put it under my nose and take another hit. — Randy Pausch

You know you're in love with somebody when you wake up next to them, comfortable despite your breath smelling like the week-old water at the bottom of a vase, when you are terribly excited to see them, to talk to them again, having missed them after all that sleep. — Elliot Perlman

He was remembering the nights he'd sat upstairs with one or both of his boys or with his girl in the crook of his arm, their damp bath-smelling heads hard against his ribs as he read aloud to them from "Black Beauty" or "The Chronicles of Narnia". How his voice alone, its palpable resonance, had made them drowsy. These were evenings, and there were hundreds of them, maybe thousands, when nothing traumatic enough to leave a scar had befallen the nuclear unit. Evenings of plain vanilla closeness in his black leather chair; sweet evenings of doubt between the nights of bleak certainty. They came to him now, these forgotten counterexamples, because in the end, when you were falling into water, there was no solid thing to reach for but your children. — Jonathan Franzen

The voice went into his head, bored down through his memories, riffled through his fears, found the right levers, battened onto them, and pulled. In Moist's case, it found Frau Shambers. In the second year at school, you were precipitated out of the warm, easygoing kindergarten of Frau Tissel, smelling of finger paint, playdough, and inadequate toilet training, and onto the cold benches governed by Frau Shambers, smelling of Education. It was as bad as being born, with the added disadvantage that your mother wasn't there. Moist — Terry Pratchett

The creator of stars, heaven and earth
surpassed himself when he also created pain. Lips like rubies, delicious-smelling hair, blooming flowers, how many of you are
already buried in earthy soil? — Omar Khayyam

Why look'e, young gentleman," said Toby, "when a man keeps himself so very ex-clusive as I have done, and by that means has a snug house over his head with nobody a-prying and smelling about it, it's rather a starling thing to have the honour of a wisit from a young gentleman (however respectable and pleasant a person he may be to play cards with at conweniency) circumstanced as you are. — Charles Dickens

We owned a garden on a hill,
We planted rose and daffodil,
Flowers that English poets sing,
And hoped for glory in the Spring.
We planted yellow hollyhocks,
And humble sweetly-smelling stocks,
And columbine for carnival,
And dreamt of Summer's festival.
And Autumn not to be outdone
As heiress of the summer sun,
Should doubly wreathe her tawny head
With poppies and with creepers red.
We waited then for all to grow,
We planted wallflowers in a row.
And lavender and borage blue, -
Alas! we waited, I and you,
But love was all that ever grew. — Vita Sackville-West

Oh, ants, my sisters, good old honeydew-seekers! From close up you are sticky and shiny and gristly; and your nymphs have parasitic red mites stuck to them. You are too intent upon your chewing and gathering to listen to me, but I tell you that despite my warm feelings I really do not like you, and I cannot feel sorry for you in any way because there are too many of you and you are not cute at all. You eat too much of my forests; you are a rebellious tribe, and I will destroy you; I will poison your nests with sweet-smelling traps. — William T. Vollmann

So there you have it, a lifetime of first smelling the books, they all smell wonderful, reading the books, loving the books, and remembering the books. — Ray Bradbury

They've been very brave," Ravenpaw replied. "I'm proud of them." Barley leaned against him, smelling warm and soft and familiar. "You should be," he whispered. — Erin Hunter

Yes, said Cook. That is soup that you are smelling. The princess, not that you would know or care, is missing, bless her goodhearted self. and times are terrible. and when times are terrible, soup is the answer. Don't it smell like the answer? — Kate DiCamillo

My eldest daughter, Suldana, is in love with another woman. She is eighteen and she spends her days working at our kiosk selling milk and eggs, and at night she sneaks out and goes down to the beach to see her lover. She crawls back into bed at dawn, smelling of sea and salt and perfume. Suldana is beautiful and she wraps this beauty around herself like a shawl of stars. When she smiles her dimples deepen and you can't help but be charmed. When she walks down the street men stare and whistle and ache. But they cannot have her. Every day marriage proposals arrive with offers of high dowries but I wave them away. We never talk about these things like mothers and daughters should; but I respect her privacy and I allow her to live. — Diriye Osman

Constable Shoe,' said Constable Shoe, when the door of the bootmaker's factory was opened. 'Homicide.'
'You come 'bout Mister Sonky?' said the troll who'd opened the door. Warm damp air blew out into the street, smelling of incontinent cats and sulphur.
'I meant I'm a zombie,' said Reg Shoe. 'I find that telling people right away saves embarrassing misunderstandings later on. But coincidentally, yes, we've come about the alleged deceased. — Terry Pratchett

You need good energy and you need to be fit because it's very tiring. A lot of the work is quite heavy and quite smelly. That's why girls drift out of the kitchen because they get fed up smelling like fish and vegetables and things like that. — Paul Rankin

After a moment, he murmured, "Emmaline. I am sorry. I am...overwrought." His laughter was unsteady. "And there's a phrase I've never used before. At least not in reference to myself." An unwilling smile curved her mouth. "I hope you won't swoon. I don't carry smelling salts." "No," he said. "I wouldn't have imagined you did. — Meredith Duran

I'm sorry, An," I said, hesitating before I spoke again. "Why did you think I turned Shay? I mean besides smelling the other wolf in the cave."
Ansel raised his gray eyes to meet mine, his irises hard as flint. "Because I would have run away with Bryn if anyone told me I couldn't be with her. If she weren't a Guardian, I would've turned her, and I would've run for the rest of my life to keep her by my side."
I looked at him for a long moment and then nodded slowly. He loves her. That's what love is. It must be. — Andrea Cremer

A good story is like a good bowel movement: it's only really satisfying once it's ended, because if you just keep going eventually your body runs out of shit and moves on to pushing all your internal organs out your sphincter until only a foul smelling shell remains and anyone who wants to get into your incredibly long poo gets turned off because they have to go through all the poo up until that point to have the necessary context. — Yahtzee Croshaw

Your hair smells like wind, did you know that?
Yep, me and Tucker, smelling each other. — Cynthia Hand

I am not blind, nor deaf. I know you all believe me weak, frightened, feeble. Your father knew me better. Oberyn was ever the viper. Deadly, dangerous, unpredictable. No man dared tread on him. I was the grass. Pleasant, complaisant, sweet-smelling, swaying with every breeze. Who fears to walk upon the grass? But it is the grass that hides the viper from his enemies and shelters him until he strikes. — George R R Martin

You talked to me of being young," I said to Jake, "you talked this evening on the bridge of losing something I would never understand. Don't you see what all that has meant to me? I was a boy without the life of a boy. Being young means bondage to me, it means a gaping sepulcher of a house smelling of dust and decay, it means people I have never loved living apart from me in a world of their own where there's no time, it means the stifling personality of my father crushing the spirit of his son, it — Daphne Du Maurier

The confidentiality of the judicial process would not matter greatly to an understanding and evaluation of the legal system if the consequences of judicial behavior could be readily determined. If you can determine the ripeness of a cantaloupe by squeezing or smelling it, you don't have to worry about the produce clerk's mental processes. — Richard Posner

I don't think everyone should vote. If you have to be dragged into the polls, carried into the polls and smelling salts have to be used, you probably shouldn't be voting. However, we shouldn't be putting up barriers to voting that target certain groups. — Mo Rocca

The voice of the soul and of the imagination is the only voice that makes the soul and the imagination resonate thoroughly and happily; and had you spent a bit of the time you have killed to please others and had you made that bit come alive, had you nourished it by reading and reflecting at your hearth during winter and in your park during summer, you would be nurturing the rich memory of deeper and fuller hours. Have the courage to take up the rake and the pickax. Someday you will delight in smelling a sweet fragrance drifting up from your memory as if from a gardener's brimming wheelbarrow. — Marcel Proust

God! I hated this business of being grown-up. I hated having to make decisions where I didn't know what was behind the door. I wanted a world where heroes and villains were clearly labeled. Where ominous music comes on-screen so you can't possibly mistake him. Where someone asks you to choose between playing with the beautiful princess in the fragrant garden and being eaten by the hideous monster in the foul-smelling pit. Not exactly a difficult one, now is it? Not something that you would agonize over, or that would make you lose a night's sleep? — Marian Keyes

She didn't do anything at all
except arrived without warning
in the middle of the night
(right when I least expected it)

She walked by me, with a strut in her step
smelling like summer
causing me to turn my head
(even the leaves swayed her way)

All she did was look at me
with bright, curious eyes
filled with mirth and secrets
(as if an adventure was about to happen)

I tried not to think of her at all
not the curves of her body
or the stories that she told
(you knew there'd never be dull conversations)

By then, I couldn't walk away
I got caught up in her storm
without a care in the world
(I was a very good swimmer)

She was a hurricane who created her own sunshine. — M.J. Abraham

You're beautiful, every part of you. I love your hair, the way it looks, the way it feels. I love touching it, smelling it. I love the way you wrinkle your nose when you laugh. It makes me laugh, too, every time. And I love watching you eat. Sometimes you can't shovel it in fast enough, but when you get interested in a conversation, you forget there's anything in front of you. God knows, I love making love with you. I can't even talk about that without wanting you. I love your pathetic attachment to those seniors. I love how hard you work. — Susan Elizabeth Phillips

Something pink? Something with extra Vitamin B? Vitamin B12? B13? Just the number of things with different types of Vitamin B in them was an embarrassment of choice itself. There were powders as well as oils, tubes of gel, even packets of some kind of pungent -smelling seed that was meant to be good for some obscure part of you in some arcane way. — Douglas Adams

I am all for the iPad, but trust me - smelling it will get you nowhere. — Chip Kidd

Woman, if you leave me smelling like roses . . . I'll see you regret it, he warned. — Lynn Kurland

Carter said, "You drenched yourself in the worst-smelling thing you could find so you could cover up the smell of your boner." "Stop saying boner!" He waggled his eyebrows at me. I glared at him. He said, "It's about time." And so I said, "What?" He squinted at me. "You and Joe." "What about me and Joe?" "Seriously. That's what you're going with." It was either that or have a panic attack. "Yes," I said. "That's what I'm going with." "It's okay," he said. "You're allowed to have a boner for my seventeen-year-old brother." I — T.J. Klune

We all jumped - a cab with its light on skidded across the lane to us, throwing up a fan of sewer-smelling water. "Watch it!" said Goldie, leaping aside as the taxi plowed to a stop - and then observing that my mother had no umbrella. "Wait," he said, starting into the lobby, to the collection of lost and forgotten umbrellas that he saved in a brass can by the fireplace and re-distributed on rainy days. "No," my mother called, fishing in her bag for her tiny candy-striped collapsible, "don't bother, Goldie, I'm all set - " Goldie sprang back to the curb and shut the taxi door after her. Then he leaned down and knocked on the window. "You have a blessed day," he said. iii. I LIKE TO THINK of myself as a perceptive person (as — Donna Tartt

I'm enchanted by your beauty, my lady. Welcome aboard. You make a most welcome addition to our acerbic company ... a lovely-smelling one, too. (Vik) — Sherrilyn Kenyon

The house was on fire," i greeted them tersely. "In case you're interested."
they both glanced up overhead as if to make sure the house was still standing. Fang sniffed, smelling the smoke.
It's out, right?" he said — James Patterson

If you don't smell good, then you don't look good. — Katy Elizabeth

Dexter,' Debs said, jerking her head at me. 'Get some smelling salts or something. You and Deke help her up.'
( ... ) Deke looked at me anxiously, reminding me very much of a large and handsome dog who needs a stick to fetch. 'Hey, you got some of that smelling stuff?' he said.
Apparently it had become universally accepted that Dexter was the Eternal Keeper of the Smelling Salts.
I had no idea where that baffling canard had come from, but in truth, I was completely without.
Luckily, Mrs Aldovar apparently was not interested in sniffing anything. — Jeff Lindsay

I looked at my two wolves. When I knelt they came to me rubbed against me smelling me and I stroked them. "Thank you for believing in me " I said and maybe they understood and maybe they didn't. — Carrie Vaughn

But friendship meant you at least planted the seed for them, love meant allowing them the ability to weed their own garden until it was something healthy and thriving, blooming and bright and smelling of heather and tiger lilies. — Shannon Noelle Long

I could no more have stopped myself from feeling that sadness than you could stop yourself from smelling an apple that has been cut open on the table before you. — Arthur Golden

A memory: Isola as a toddler, sugarlump teeth, skin still smelling of milk. Hair that curled without use of an iron and sweet dresses that didn't matter were dirtied. When she was old enough, she demanded the usual suspects at bedtime: The Little Mermaid, Hansel and Gretel, Beauty and the Beast.
Even then, Mother's contempt for non-Pardieu fairytales was obvious.
'Hmph,' she snorted derisively, folding up her knees to perch on Isola's bed. 'Listen to me, Isola. The original Beauty's just an encouragement to young women to accept arranged marriages. What it's really saying to impressionable girls is, "Don't worry if your new husband is decades older than you, or ugly, or horrid. If you're sweet and obedient enough, you might just discover he's a prince in disguise!'

Mother's Most Lasting Advice
'Never be that girl, Isola. Never pick the beast or the wolf on the off-chance he won't devour you. — Allyse Near

Like any omnipresent smell - or rather, like anything omnipresent - you get used to it; you stop smelling it after a while. Same is true for your other senses. And your soul. — Rick Yancey

I don't care if you go to bed smelling like him, so long as you wake up smelling like me. — Tiffany Snow

The Fuhrer himself was the target of the fourth leaflet: "Every word that comes from Hitler's mouth is a lie. When he says peace, he means war, and when he blasphemously uses the name of the Almighty, he means the power of evil, the fallen angel, Satan. His mouth is the foul-smelling maw of Hell, and his might is at bottom accursed." This leaflet ended with the words "We will not be silent. We are your bad conscience. The White Rose will not leave you in peace. — Russell Freedman

Vadim swallowed, felt his throat too tight to move, then, still staring at the bottle, smelling the desert and Dan, and himself, his hand reached to his side, opened the holster of the pistol. Took out the mag, took the bullet from the chamber, clicked the mag in place again, rolled the bullet between his fingers.
He looked at Dan, sideways, saw the man stare at him, all eyes, dark eyes, and the way the pale desert moon made his face a place of shadows.
He reached for Dan's hand, opened the fingers and placed the bullet into the palm.
"This is the bullet you'll use to kill me if I walk away again." Because if I walk away again, I'll be in so much pain I'm better off dead anyway. — Aleksandr Voinov

If you start to smell some of the shit, you start smelling all of the shit — Doug Stanhope

Have you ever watched a deer walking out from cover? They step, stop, and stay, motionless, nose to the air, looking and smelling. A nervous twitch might run down their flanks. And then, reassured that all is safe, they ankle their way out of the brush to graze. — Helen Macdonald

Lee, the mistake you made is you forgot some hour, some day, we all got to climb out of that thing and go back to dirty dishes and the beds not made. While you're in that thing, sure, a sunset lasts forever almost, the air smells good, the temperature is fine. All the things you want to last, last. But outside, the children wait on lunch, the clothes need buttons. And then let's be frank, Lee, how long can you look at a sunset? Who wants a sunset to last? Who wants perfect temperature? Who wants air smelling good always? So after awhile, who would notice? Better, for a minute or two, a sunset. After that, let's have something else. People are like that, Lee. How could you forget? — Ray Bradbury

You need to be able to climb into a narrative and zip it up under your chin. You need to be able to see through the eyes of the hero, smell what he's smelling, hear what he's hearing. — Geraldine McCaughrean

If you're about to fall to the ground like a frail creature in need of smelling salts, you owe it to yourself to at least say something vicious beforehand. — Helen Oyeyemi

There's immeasurable glory in riding a tractor. You start by taking a lap around the fields, smelling the aroma, admiring the colors, day after day, until one morning everything smells ready, as if it's opened and unfurled, and you ask the wheat, 'Is it time?' And the wheat says, 'Yes, friend, it's time.' And then you know to begin the harvest. — Michael Paterniti

This can't happen again, Wyatt. We're done. It's over."

A palm slapped against the door, right next to her head, so hard she jumped.

"I don't think so."

"If you think I can spend the next thirteen days seeing you, hearing you, smelling you"--he inhaled deeply and growled a little--"without touching you, you're very, very mistaken."

"It's not over, Faith. It's just begun."

~Wyatt — Sydney Croft

Even though I always knew I had a good nose for fragrances, the process of creating my own, 'Alive,' turned out to be a great learning experience for me. And the name explains my reason behind it. Smelling good makes you feel alive. — Arjun Rampal

In fact, I can't think of much I'd like better than for him to step into the room right now, glasses fogged and smelling of damp wool, shaking the rain from his hair like an old dog and saying: 'Dickie, my boy, what you got for a thirsty old man to drink tonight? — Donna Tartt

If I could tell you about Red
I would sing to you of fire Sweet like cherries
Burning like cinnamon Smelling like a rose in the sun — Dixie Dawn Miller Goode

And the City, in its own way, gets down for you, cooperates, smoothing its sidewalks, correcting its curbstones, offering you melons and green apples on the corner. Racks of yellow head scarves; strings of Egyptian beads. Kansas fried chicken and something with raisins call attention to an open window where the aroma seems to lurk. And if that's not enough, doors to speakeasies stand ajar and in that cool dark place a clarinet coughs and clears its throat waiting for the woman to decide on the key. She makes up her mind and as you pass by informs your back that she is daddy's little angel child. The City is smart at this: smelling and good and looking raunchy; sending secret messages disguised as public signs: this way, open here, danger to let colored only single men on sale woman wanted private room stop dog on premises absolutely no money down fresh chicken free delivery fast. And good at opening locks, dimming stairways. Covering your moans with its own. — Toni Morrison

Have you ever seen a donkey smelling a beautiful rose? Donkeys aren't interested in roses, they like thorn bushes or watermelon rinds! — Mehmet Murat Ildan

First, it's used."
"Now look here," Teddy Jo growled. "It's not a Cadillac. It's a body freezer. The value doesn't drop because you drive it off the lot."
"I don't know what sort of bodies you stuck in there, Teddy. You might have put a leucrocuta in there. Those things stink."
"It's not like the dead gonna care. They can't smell shit, and they themselves ain't gonna get to smelling any better. — Ilona Andrews

You can't go about smelling of April and May, the pair of you, and then expect to gull people into thinking you don't mean to get riveted! — Georgette Heyer

I don't fool you, do I? Those others" - he waved a vague hand to indicate their
missing comrades - "they think I'm all that - but you know better, don't you."
"Know what?" she'd asked.
He leaned forward, smelling of beer and cigarettes. "You know I'm a fraud. I can
feel the beast inside me, screaming to get out. And if I loose it, it will pull me up to greatness despite myself."
"So why not let it free?" She hadn't been a werewolf then. The world had been a gentler place, the monsters safely in their closets, and she had been brave in her ignorance.
His eyes were old and weary, his voice slurring a bit. "Because then everyone would
see," he told her.
"See what?"
"Me. — Patricia Briggs

Sculpting them in a drizzle shawl,
I would have have weaved your dreams
in my distinct eyes;
I would have taken your cheeks,
and decorated them with full moon sights,
writing verses with starry eyes;
I would have invented diction suiting
your stammering tongue,
writing stories about your happy childhood;
I would have traveled beside western winds,
bringing roses from far lands, from Samarkand,
from the rose gardens touching Turkish valleys,
from mountains smelling of Azerbaijan.
I would have portrayed you a an honest mother,
buying your children a happy house, a giant sky;
I would have made orchards of your ripe smiles,
tending rains and sunlight into their broad borders;
Ah, I would have sown your braided hair
into almonds, saffron and homegrown walnuts,
into tufts of a lifelong breeze. — Ashfaq Saraf

He's here. We can smell it. (Arcadian Sentinel)
You need to get your head out of your sphincter and stop smelling your own underwear cause the only jackals here, buddy, are you. (Aimee) — Sherrilyn Kenyon

Marvin thought of his bowel movements as BMs, a phrase he'd heard an army doctor mutter once. His BMs were turning against him, turning violent in a way. He and Eleanor went through the Dolomites and across Austria and nipped into the northwest corner of Hungary and the stuff came crashing out of him, noisy and remarkably dark. But mainly it was the smell that disturbed him. He was afraid Eleanor would notice. He realized this was probably a normal part of every early marriage, smelling the other's smell, getting it over and done with so you can move ahead with your lives, have children, buy a little house, remember everybody's birthday, take a drive on the Blue Ridge Parkway, get sick and die. But in this case the husband had to take extreme precautions because the odor was shameful, it was intense and deeply personal and seemed to say something awful about the bearer.
His smell was a secret he had to keep from his wife. — Don DeLillo

Take my memories of my mother, and the feelings that went with them. I do not want to know them at all. Take the ache in my throat when I think of Molly, take all the sharp-edged, bright-colored days I recall with her. Take their brilliance and leave me but the shadows of what I saw and felt. Let me recall them without cutting myself on their sharpness. Take my days and nights in Regal's dungeons. It is enough to know what was done to me. Take it to keep, and let me stop feeling my face against that stone floor, hearing the sound of my nose breaking, smelling and tasting my own blood. Take my hurt that I never knew my father, take my hours of staring up at his portrait when the great hall was empty and I could do so alone. Take my - Fitz. Stop. You give her too much, there will be nothing left of you. — Robin Hobb

The gods tempt us. They offer us riches and sweet smelling women, tres leches, each milk sweeter than the one before. But you cannot beat the gods. The grander house and the bigger deal only mean more borrowed time, more risk. When you build your life on a house of cards, you never know when the joker will turn up. — Paul Levine

We are all surrounded with so much static energy, that it is actually crucial to develop the ability to remove that and to flow through the streams in life that we make - the ones that are not stagnant, the ones that are real, the energy that is flowing and that is real and that is actual. You can get so caught up with what your friends think about your photo on Facebook that you don't realize your loss of ability to actually feel what in fact was going on in that photo. Too often, we stop to smell the flowers in order to show someone that we have stopped to smell the flowers; without actually smelling anything with our noses! This is scary. We live in a scary world. — C. JoyBell C.

You know those adages about smelling the roses and chasing butterflies? The markets are my butterflies and my roses. — Bill Gross

You thought about dragging me into your bed this morning."
"I thought about stabbing you and running away screaming. You broke into my house without permission and slobbered all over me. You're a damn lunatic! And don't give me that line about smelling my desire; I know it's bullshit."
"I didn't need to smell you. I could tell by the dreamy look in your eyes and the way your tongue licked the inside of my mouth. — Ilona Andrews

The whole island was exactly what a kid growing up in some trailer park
say some dump like Tecumseh Lake, Georgia
would dream about. This kid would turn out all the lights in the trailer while her mom was at work. She'd lie down flat on her back, on the matted-down orange shag carpet in the living room. The carpet smelling like somebody stepped in a dog pile. The orange melted black in spots from cigarette burns. The ceiling was water-stained. she'd fold her arms across her chest, and she could picture life in this kind of place. It would be that time
late at night
when your ears reach out for any sound. When you can see more with your eyes closed than open. The fish skeleton. From the first time she held a crayon, that's what she'd draw. — Chuck Palahniuk

There is simply experience. There is not something or someone experiencing experience! You do not feel feelings, think thoughts, or sense sensations any more than you hear hearing, see sight, or smell smelling. "I feel fine" means that a fine feeling is present. It does not mean that there is one thing called an "I" and another separate thing called a feeling, so that when you bring them together this "I" feels the fine feeling. There — Alan W. Watts

My conflicts of conscience are about the only battles I'm fighting these days, and I'm willing to fight until the end. There is something freeing
about this life, about living out of a single backpack and disappearing into the night. About smelling terrible and never remembering people's names. About never having to say you're sorry. We exist outside of society. We stay up late and sleep even later. We
are bandits, pirates, serial killers. The dregs. Someone should lock us up and never let us out again. But instead, they give us their money, they offer us their beds. We are not
going to pay for the beer. We are not going to be back here for a good, long while. We have prior engagements. We have the money in a duffel bag. We have no shame. Fuck guilt. Back to life. — Pete Wentz

You tell me exactly what happened, ye filthy wee pervert," Fraser whispered, his breath hot on Grey's face and smelling of ale. He shook Grey slightly. "Every word. Every motion. Everything." Grey got just enough breath to answer. "No," he said defiantly. "Go ahead and kill me. — Diana Gabaldon

I picked up a man from the street, and he was eaten up alive from worms. Nobody could stand him, and he was smelling so badly. I went to him to clean him, and he asked, 'Why do you do this?' I said, 'Because I love you.' — Mother Teresa

My name is Lev," said Lev.
"My name is Lydia," said the woman. And they shook hands, Lev's hand holding the scrunched-up kerchief and Lydia's hand rough with salt and smelling of egg, and then Lev asked, "What are you planning to do in En gland?" and Lydia said, "I have some interviews in London for jobs as a translator."
"That sounds promising."
"I hope so. I was a teacher of English at School 237 in Yarbl, so my language is very colloquial."
Lev looked at Lydia. It wasn't difficult to imagine her standing in front of a class and writing words on a blackboard. He said, "I wonder why you're leaving our country when you had a good job at School 237 in Yarbl?"
"Well," said Lydia, "I became very tired of the view from my window. Every day, summer and winter, I looked out at the schoolyard and the high fence and the apartment block beyond, and I began to imagine I would die seeing these things, and I didn't want this. I expect you understand what I mean? — Rose Tremain

You know that movie, where the little boy says 'I see dead people'?
The Sixth Sense.
Well, I see them all the time, and I'm getting tired of it. That's what's ruined my mood. Here it is, almost Christmas, and I didn't even think about putting up a tree, because I'm still seeing the autopsy lab in my head. I'm still smelling it on my hands. I come home on a day like this, after two postmortems, and I can't think about cooking dinner. I can't even look at a piece of meat without thinking of muscle fibers. All I can deal with is a cocktail. And then I pour the drink and smell the alcohol, and suddenly there I am, back in the lab. Alcohol, formalin, they both have that same sharp smell. — Tess Gerritsen

My men are hungry and restless, and you've put us in a confined space with a lot of sweet-smelling flesh." Cinder raised an eyebrow. "If they need a snack, tell them to chew on each other for a while. I just want to make sure Jacin has enough time to reach as many sectors as possible." Strom smirked, as if impressed at Cinder's inability to be bullied. — Marissa Meyer