Best 733 quotes in «smell quotes» category

Sudden Light I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the light around the shore.

Survival in more primitive ages required constant alertness, but survival in today's mechanized world almost demands that we turn off our senses. In urban life especially, there is too much to see, hear and smell.

Sweat is the cologne of accomplishment.

Take time to smell the roses. Appreciating the little things in life really can make all the difference.

Take the time to smell the roses. Sooner or later, you'll inhale a bee and die.

Thanks to the long days of rain, the blades of grass glowed with a deep-green luster, and they gave off the smell of wildness unique to things that sink their roots into the earth.

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.

That which above all other yields the sweetest smell in the air is the violet.

The action films I will make in the future will be more believable and character-based. I am now on my second cycle of fame, and I want to make films that smell real and are truthful.

The air is annoyingly potted with a multitude of minor vertical disturbances which sicken the passengers and keep us captives of our seat belts. We sweat in the cockpit, though much of the time we fly with the side windows open. The airplanes smell of hot oil and simmering aluminum, disinfectant, feces, leather, and puke ... the stewardesses, short-tempered and reeking of vomit, come forward as often as they can for what is a breath of comparatively fresh air.

The aura given out by a person or object is as much a part of them as their flesh. The effect that they make in space is as bound up with them as might be their colour or smell ... Therefore the painter must be as concerned with the air surrounding his subject as with the subject itself. It is through observation and perception of atmosphere that he can register the feeling that he wishes his painting to give out.

The bacillus of efficiency has also attacked football, and some dare to ask what's the point in playing well. I feel tempted to tell about the time they dared to ask Borges what is poetry for, to which he answered: 'What is a sunrise for? What are caresses for? What is the smell of coffee for?'

Theatre has so many competitors, it's no longer enough to see and hear a play. You want to be able to touch and smell it, too.

The biggest thing I've found since I left the game - and I'm glad I chose to leave rather than being sacked - is that so many people are in football for the wrong reasons. Not because they love the game, but because they smell money.

The best defence against bullshit is vigilance. So if you smell something, say something.

The best thing to do with a bad smell is to get rid of it.

The body of a dead enemy always smells sweet.

The Church needs more people willing to wash feet, not just point out they're dirty or complain that they smell.

The breaking of the alabaster box and the anointing of the Lord filled the house with the odor, with the sweetest odor. Everyone could smell it. Whenever you meet someone who has really suffered; been limited, gone through things for the Lord, willing to be imprisoned by the Lord, just being satisfied with Him and nothing else, immediately you scent the fragrance. There is a savor of the Lord. Something has been crushed, something has been broken, and there is a resulting odor of sweetness.

The camembert with its venison scent defeats the Marolles and Limbourg dull smells; It spreads its exhalation, smothering the other scents under its surprising breath abundance.

The Devil is right at home. The Devil, the Devil himself, is right in the house. And the Devil came here yesterday. Yesterday the Devil came here. Right here. And it smells of sulphur still today. Yesterday, ladies and gentlemen, from this rostrum, the president of the United States, the gentleman to whom I refer as the Devil, came here, talking as if he owned the world. Truly. As the owner of the world.

The feel of them (books) and the smell of them. A bookshop was like an Aladdin's cave for me. Entire worlds and lives can be found just behind that glossy cover. All you had to do was look." Claire (Watermelon)

The earth's warmth under me, as I stretch out at night, is astonishing. It is like the warmth of another body that has absorbed the sun all day and now gives out again its store of heat. It is softer, darker than I could ever have believed, and when I take a handful of it and smell its extraordinary odors, I know suddenly what it is I am composed of, as if the energy that is in this fistful of black soil had suddenly opened, between my body and it, as between it and the green stalks, some corridor along which our common being flowed.

The fanboy community can smell in an instant, like smelling fear, when something was tailor-made in order to reach them as a demographic.

The gift of perfume to a flower is a special grace like genius or like beauty, and never becomes common or cheap.

The fresh smell of coffee soon wafted through the apartment, the smell that separates night from day.

The goals are not about the sweet smell of success as much as it's about enjoying a damn day on the movie set... I live in a complete state of grace.

The highest art of professional management requires the literal ability to 'smell' a 'real fact' from all others.

The hossanas of the multitude can never bring satisfaction to the discerning. Yet there exist those chamaleons of popularity who find their joy, not in the sweet breath of Apollo, but in the smell of the crowd. And not in mind: Do not be taken in by what are miracles to the populace, for the ignorant do not rise above marveling. Thus the stupidity of a crowd is lost in admiration, even as the brain of an individual uncovers the trick.

The hot, moist smell of babies fresh from naps.

The hostility of this landscape teaches me how to be quiet and unobtrusive, how to find grace among spiders with a poisonous bite. I sat on a lone boulder in the midst of the curlews. By now, they had grown accustomed to me. This too, I found encouraging-that in the face of stressful intrusions, we can eventually settle in. One begins to almost trust the intruder as a presence that demands greater intent toward life. On a day like today when the air is dry and smells of salt, I have found my open space, my solitude, and sky. And I have found the birds who require it.

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.

The oven became hotter and hotter, and Hansel began to sweat. Then a delicious smell wafted to his nostrils. Oh no! he thought. I'm cooking! He sniffed at the air. And I smell delicious!

The musty smell, the bugs, the lonliness, this room, which is part of the street outside-this is all I want from life.

The other dry shampoo I was using was wet feeling but I love Prive's smell and how light and airy my hair feels afterwards!

Then I smell the sweat on him, a clean musky scent that I'd bottle and wear as perfume if I could.

The past is the only dead thing that smells sweet.

The piebald mare paws at the sand; I see her digging out of the corner of my eye and hear her grinding her teeth. That bridle's her curse, this island her prison. She still smells of rot.

The pillow smells like the sunlight, a precious smell.

The press is a watchdog. Not an attack dog. Not a lapdog. A watchdog. Now, a watchdog can't be right all the time. He doesn't bark only when he sees or smells something that's dangerous. A good watchdog barks at things that are suspicious.

There is no such thing as a person. There are only restrictions and limitations. The sum total of these defines the person. The person merely appears to be, like the space within the pot appears to have the shape and volume and smell of the pot.

The Procrastinator has the opposite problem. He can’t selectively focus his attention and might endure frequent accusations about his laziness. In truth, he’s so distracted by stimuli that he can’t figure out where or how to get started. Sounds, smells, sights and the random wanderings of his thoughts continually vie for his attention.

There is, however, a strange, musty smell in the air that reminds me of something...hmm...yes...I've got it...there's a VMS nearby, or I'm a Blit.

There is no future for e-books, because they are not books. E-books smell like burned fuel.

There are few pleasures like really burrowing one's nose into sweet peas.

There are some things I can just smell. It's like a sixth sense." "Well, actually, that would be one of the five.

There are three things that smell of fish. One of them is fish. The other two are growing on you!

There is always in February some one day, at least, when one smells the yet distant, but surely coming, summer.

There is as much difference between good poetry and fine verses, as between the smell of a flower-garden and of a perfumer's shop.

There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion," said he, leaning with his back against the shutters. "It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its colour are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers.