Smell Quotes - Page 34

Aristodemus, a friend of Antigonus, supposed to be a cook's son, advised him to moderate his gifts and expenses. "Thy words," said he, "Aristodemus, smell of the apron.

I almost always write everything the way it comes out, except I tend much more to take things out rather than put things in. It's out of a desire to really show what's going on at all times, how things smell and look, as well as from the knowledge that I don't want to push things too quickly through to climax; if I do, it won't mean anything. Everything has to be earned, and it takes a lot of work to earn.

I know how to live here, I know how everything smells, and tastes, and is. What could I ever search for in the world, except this again?

I like the touch and the smell of all the pretty dresses you wear.

The sight, sound or even smell of a first love seems to burrow deep into the brain.

We all used to collect baseball cards that came with bubble gum. You could never get the smell of gum off your cards, but you kept your Yankees cards pristine.

That's the beauty of the Web: You can roll around in a stranger's obsession without having to smell his or her house. You can amscray whenever you want without being rude. The site gets its "hit" and you know more about our species' diversity.

Success has got no taste or smell and when you get used to it, it's as if it didn't exist.

There's all kinds of those moments in your life where either through a weird set of circumstances, or a song you hear, or a smell you smell, or one person says something totally out of the context without the meaning that you assigned to it, but you snap back to the way you were when you were 14 or 15. We all deal with that.

The air was heavy with the smell of leather and dust, of old parchment and binding glue. It smelled of secrets.

I don't know how much time passes with us just lying there, just feeling that the other is really there, really true, really alive, feeling the safety of him, his weight against mine, the roughness of his fingers touching my face, his warmth and his smell and the dustiness of his clothes, and we barely speak.

I find it difficult to attend autopsies. Especially the smells.

I'm kind of a crazy person about hand sanitizer. I carry the plain ones that smell like aloe, from Target or CVS.

I'm the opposite of someone like David Grossman, who knows how his characters walk, and how they smell. I don't allow myself to imagine what mine look like at all. My sense of them comes from the inside. They remain, by necessity, physically vague in my mind.

In New York, you are forced into having very public lives and observing all types of people, what they sound like, what they're reading, what they smell like, what they are listening to, how they talk to their friends.

They're not so much fans of independent movies are they are of independent theatres. They like small theaters with a vague, septic smell. They're not wild about the newfangled theaters with the assigned seating.

I still love the book-ness of books, the smell of books: I am a book fetishist—books to me are the coolest and sexiest and most wonderful things there are.

I as an astrophysicist, see the universe, feel the universe, smell the universe every day. Every day. And for people to say, I'm cool, I'm right here, it's all I need.

I smell fear, he said with a quiet intensity. But not nearly enough.

To be resigned when ills betide, Patient when favours are deni'd, And pleas'd with favours given, - Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part; This is that incense of the heart Whose fragrance smells to heaven.

If your kitchen smells good, your food lost something.

I still buy actual books. The smell, having it in your hands - there's really no substitute.

It is kind of cliche to say you like a man to smell like a man, but I really do. My husband can go three or four days without taking a shower and the man never smells.

Death will never be pretty - its sights and smells too close and crude. And it will never come under our control: it gallops where we tiptoe, rips up our routines, burns our very breath with its heat and sting.

I can smell blood, Elena,” Dmitri drawled, walking back into the room. “Are you trying to flirt?