Aromas Quotes

There was something special about a carnival at night. Bright lights pierced the darkness; the tinkling music of the merry-go-round provided the perfect background for the shrill calls of the carnival workers; the giggles of the people aiming fake rifles at fake ducks were full of contagious fun; the distant shrieks coming from the roller coaster and the top of the Ferris wheel filled the air; and a warm breeze carried the tantalizing aromas of cotton candy and hot buttered popcorn. ~ Marilyn Kaye

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

Of course, there has been a lot of speculation over the last couple of years that our wives must have married us bearded ugly ducklings because of our fame and fortune. The fact is that none of us had much at all when we met our wives, and our long, full beards came after we married them. Our crazy uncle Si likes to joke that our gift of gab--or "hot air," as he puts it--is what helped woo our wives. Actually, our relationships were built on spiritual principles such as faith, hope, and love. Through our poverty, rugged appearances, and, at times, musty aromas, I learned that true joy doesn't come from what you have or how you look but from what kind of man you are on the inside. On my second date with Missy, I explained to her my love for hunting and fishing, which often causes me to be gone for several days and sometimes weeks at a time. I figured my admission would rule out a third date, but I was surprised when she replied, "Okay." I knew right then that Missy was a keeper, and she has become my spiritual soul mate and a wonderful mother to our three beautiful children. ~ Jase Robertson

I may well be bringing fresh notions or concepts that will cause many people to think of me as a bit odd, but I'm okay with that, because maybe I'm just conscious and alive in a batty old world. That said, it doesn't mean everyone will 'get' me, there are a million aromas and zings and zaps and tangs and wallops in the world. We all have a different piquancy. What I do mean, however, is that my tribe can find me. ~ Karl Wiggins

Of all the exotic aromas and experiences from my sojourn in Ethiopia, it's the frankincense I miss most. ~ Cathleen Falsani

Smell and taste are processed in parts of our brains that are reactive and emotional rather than intellectual, which is one reason developing a good vocabulary of aromas is so difficult. It's a long journey from our lizard brain way up to where language is processed. ~ Randy Mosher

I'm a big believer in cooking your own meals. It makes it much easier not only to ensure that you eat fresh foods but also to follow the second rule of eating (see previous chapter), which advises incorporating as many colors, tastes, textures, and aromas as possible into one's meal. Beyond those benefits, I feel that cooking celebrates self-respect, and it's especially important on the Warrior Diet. Through cooking, you can control exactly what you put inside your body. It's a creative process, where you use trial and error to determine what you like.You can use different herbs and spices to increase or balance flavors, aromas, and textures.You're not a scavenger on the Warrior Diet. ~ Ori Hofmekler

You are a ghost, like you were a ghost before because you were never here, but everywhere at once, i wish i could talk like my eyes can see, word you with what i smell, knock your socks off with aromas of a tiny metropolis tourists only catch glimpses of at the Wharf. A thousand LSD trips and middle-aged folks remembering Timothy Leary playing like a Pied Piper leading them all off to jump off the pier. ~ Ana Castillo

More delicious aromas rose. He sprinkled in a ~ John Flanagan

Bouillabaisse, this golden soup, this incomparable golden soup which embodies and concentrates all the aromas of our shores and which permeates, like an ecstasy, the stomachs of astonished gastronomes. Bouillabaisse is one of those classic dishes whose glory has encircled the world, and the miracle consists of this: there are as many bouillabaisses as there are good chefs or cordon bleus. Each brings to his own version his special touch. ~ Curnonsky

Sooner or later your fingers close on that one moist-cold spud that the spade has accidentally sliced clean through, shining wetly white and giving off the most unearthly of earthly aromas. It's the smell of fresh soil in the spring, but fresh soil somehow distilled or improved upon, as if that wild, primordial scene has been refined and bottled: eau de pomme de terre. You can smell the cold inhuman earth in it, but there's the cozy kitchen to, for the smell of potatoes is, at least by now, to us, the smell of comfort itself, a smell as blankly welcoming as spud flesh, a whiteness that takes up memories and sentiments as easily as flavors. To smell a raw potato is to stand on the very threshold of the domestic and the wild. (241) ~ Michael Pollan

Peeling an Orange

Between you and a bowl of oranges I lie nude
Reading The World's Illusion through my tears.
You reach across me hungry for global fruit,
Your bare arm hard, furry and warm on my belly.
Your fingers pry the skin of a naval orange
Releasing tiny explosions of spicy oil.
You place peeled disks of gold in a bizarre pattern
On my white body. Rearranging, you bend and bite
The disks to release further their eager scent.
I say "Stop, you're tickling," my eyes still on the page.
Aromas of groves arise. Through green leaves
Glow the lofty snows. Through red lips
Your white teeth close on a translucent segment.
Your face over my face eclipses The World's Illusion.
Pulp and juice pass into my mouth from your mouth.
We laugh against each other's lips. I hold my book
Behind your head, still reading, still weeping a little.
You say "Read on, I'm just an illusion," rolling
Over upon me soothingly, gently unmoving,
Smiling greenly through long lashes. And soon
I say "Don't stop. Don't disillusion me."
Snows melt. The mountain silvers into many a stream.
The oranges are golden worlds in a dark dream. ~ Virginia Adair

There was something about the scent of apple, she thought, that was truly unique to just that fruit-- it really did touch on so many childhood memories. Probably because it was among the first baby foods so many ate.
"This is going to be so very popular," she said thoughtfully. "I might tone down some of the earth notes, maybe bring up some of the brightness."
Dylan observed as she made some exacting adjustments to the dials while simultaneously watching their correlating meters.
Grace took a few quick sniffs, smiled, and then held the nose cup to his face again. He put his hand on hers and drew the cup even closer.
"I think this balance would make a lovely cider or a blend to an organic cinnamon and apple oatmeal," she said.
"Yes," said Dylan, nodding. "Hot from the pan on a cold autumn morning. I can absolutely smell that."
"Let's bring up a spice note, warm up the composition a bit." Watching his face, her left hand still with his, her right hand reaching out to the dials, Grace adjusted the machine, and she could see from his face when she was hitting just the right notes.
Dylan started laughing.
"What?" she asked happily.
"I smell my mother's apple pie." He pressed his warm hand to hers on the cup as he inhaled. "That's amazing!" Then he grabbed her hand and moved the cup toward her. "Here, you have to try this."
Their hands still together, she inhaled. "Oh, this 'is' amazing. Yum." Grace reached for a dial and adjusted i ~ Jeffrey Stepakoff

The Warrior's Diet Three Rules of Eating:
Rule #1: Always start with subtle-tasting foods and move to the more
aggressive foods.
Rule #2: Include as many tastes, textures, colors, and aromas as possible in your main meal.
Rule #3: Stop eating when you feel much more thirsty than hungry. ~ Ori Hofmekler

Remembering's dangerous. I find the past such a worrying, anxious place. "The Past Tense," I suppose you'd call it. Memory's so treacherous. One moment you're lost in a carnival of delights, with poignant childhood aromas, the flashing neon of puberty, all that sentimental candy-floss... the next, it leads you somewhere you don't want to go. Somewhere dark and cold, filled with the damp ambiguous shapes of things you'd hoped were forgotten. Memories can be vile, repulsive little brutes. Like children I suppose. But can we live without them? Memories are what our reason is based upon. If we can't face them, we deny reason itself! Although, why not? We aren't contractually tied down to rationality! There is no sanity clause! So when you find yourself locked onto an unpleasant train of thought, heading for the places in your past where the screaming is unbearable, remember there's always madness. Madness is the emergency exit… you can just step outside, and close the door on all those dreadful things that happened. You can lock them away… forever. ~ Alan Moore

The Reading Terminal Market on 12th and Arch was created in 1892 when the Reading Railroad opened markets below the elevated tracks of the new train shed. It had consistently housed an undetermined amount of aromas since then by creating a gastronomic bazaar conveniently located at street level. ~ Craig Johnson

God Does Not Compare The Flowers In His Garden

A rose is beautiful, but so is an iris. Both are flowers and both are beautiful. However, they bloom in different seasons and they both have different aromas. They both glorify God but in different and unique ways.

That is how we are in God's eyes. We are beautiful and unique flowers in His heavenly flower garden. He adores and treasures each and every one of us. ~ Cheryl Zelenka

He couldn't stop smelling the air in great, deep, loud sniffs. It was so delicious. It smelled of water, and mud, and maple trees, and autumn. ~ Elizabeth Enright

This is based on Sauce Américaine. A classic French sauce, its recipe calls for crushed lobster shells and meat crushed together.
And then there's its rich, woody fragrance. I know what it's from now! COGNAC!" *Cognac is a variety of brandy made in Cognac, France. There are many strict requirements the brandy must meet in order to be considered an official cognac.*
"I see! When brandy is aged, it absorbs the scents of the wooden casks in which it's stored! That's why this curry has such a strong bouquet of woody aromas... like sandalwood and cedar!"
"Yup! That's right, sir. By the way, for this dish I experimented a little...
... and used Napoleon-Grade Cognac, which has even richer scents.
There are several grades of cognac, depending on how long it is aged. Napoleon Grade is considered the highest. ~ Yuto Tsukuda

I'd say, for me, it's cooking that gives me a space beyond music. I love food. And somehow, music and food go together so well. Cooking is very therapeutic. That preparation, the fragrance of spices, the wafting aromas - it just sweeps aside my depression, tiredness and name what you may. ~ Shreya Ghoshal

He ambled towards the abyss again,
Acquiescing to the adroit turns of his
Abtenauer, his Altai horse, his Appaloosa,
His Ardennais, and his Australian Brumby…..
Agilely each equine adumbrates the aesthetics
Of aestivating, much like aficionados of nature
And much like ailurophiles, too……
Ambrosial aromas attract his attention to the
Assemblage of amaranth foliage growing
At the abyss's edge. "Anglophile!" "Antediluvian!"
"Aplomb!" "Apocryphal!" "Apophenia!" "Apothecary!"
Each petal calls out to him as he captures their vision in his
Aqueous humor. Now an arabesque they display,
Then some archipelago formation, as they (those purple perennials)
Give in to the Wind's whimsy. "What's in my arsenal?" He asks himself.
"Do I have Authenticity, like Astrophysics and Astronomy?"
"Am I at last in my Autumn, torn asunder by Avarice?
Shall I now step toward Winter to wither and waste away, without rebirth?"
The Summer's azure skies call him back, reminding him of his herd.
Homeward he must turn. The pony pushes him back to the plain.
And, as he trudges away from the abyss, the warriors of darkness -
His old battle buddies who left him behind as they raced toward Providence -
Rattle in his mind with their Paleolithic war toys, on the war path, chanting:
"The greatest battles we face are in the silent chambers of our own souls….."


-----from the poem 'Summ ~ Mariecor Ruediger

I still dream in pictures and color, always the world of my childhood. I see the purple Judas trees at Easter lighting up the roadsides and terraces of the town. Ochre cliffs made of cinnamon powder. Autumn clouds rolling along the ground of the hills, and the patchwork of wet oak leaves on the grass. The shape of a rose petal. And my parents' faces, which will never grow any older.
"But it is strange how scent brings it all back too. I only have to smell certain aromas, and I am back in a certain place with a certain feeling."
The comforting past smelled of heliotrope and cherry and sweet almond biscuits: close-up smells, flowers you had to put your nose to as the sight faded from your eyes. The scents of that childhood past had already begun to slip away: Maman's apron with blotches of game stew; linen pressed with faded lavender; the sheep in the barn. The present, or what had so very recently been the present, was orange blossom infused with hope. ~ Deborah Lawrenson

God must be a smell, one of those delicious dreamy aromas that float into the soul on the warm hopeful days of spring. What is God must be one of those smells that beguile and inebriate the mind, who like a fine drunken horse of water the heart now rides, galloping wild in every direction like a river flooding right through the topsoil of your youth, cutting and eroding a groove that will be your life, a canyon sunk deep into the virgin plains and unsawn forests of your early days. ~ Martin Prechtel

Memories

Memories are real life experiences distilled over time into a palatable elixir that one can selectively choose to indulge.

Heartbreak and misfortune are most often entombed in cerebral mausoleums. Due to their caustic essence they are prohibitive to access and are accompanied by a lingering bitter aftertaste.

Pleasant recollections may be retrieved at will as if tethered to the end of a string on a reel. They are often seasoned to taste and bursting with flavor and pungent aromas. ~ Rob Wood

The air of the islands, she believed, was different than the air of other regions of the world. It engulfed her now, carrying with it flavors of sun-drenched soil and foam-flecked sea, aromas of virgin woods and naked rocks, its tang of citrus trees and its fizz of foreign wine-misted lips. It carried in its pockets the sounds of children's laughter, the clatter of drunken brawls, the mandolin music thrumming sensually from decades-old cassette tapes in the colorful souvenir shops where old ladies and young women waved at passersby. It came from near and far, rebounding off the blue-white flag strapped to ferry masts rearing above the sparkling waters, glinting in the brown-eyed winks and twirled mustaches of the locals. ~ Angela Panayotopulos

Her mouth - ah, that lush, sweet mouth - was a garden, and I was on my back, face tipped in adoration to the sun for giving me such brilliance, delightful aromas, and the indescribable lightness of being with her. ~ Julia Kent

The memory of some bottles can stay with your for life. While the wine doesn't have to be old and rare, a great old bottle can be like a time capsule, capturing in its flavors and aromas the time and place of its creation. ~ Mireille Guiliano

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

I looked up to see the sun struggling behind a gray mass of snow clouds.
I could relate.
And then a beam of sunlight found a way through. A sign? Maybe.
But what was this? I gasped. The bakery esters had refracted into visible bands of flavor.
Red raspberry, orange, and the yellow of lemon and butter.
Pistachio, lime, and mint green.
The deepest indigo of a fresh blueberry
The violet that blooms when crushed blackberries blend into buttercream.
The Roy G. Biv that a baker loves.
And then the darkness: chocolate, spice, coffee, and burnt-sugar caramel. ~ Judith Fertig

But a smell shivered him awake.
It was a scent as old as the world. It was a hundred aromas of a thousand places. It was the tang of pine needles. It was the musk of sex. It was the muscular rot of mushrooms. It was the spice of oak. Meaty and redolent of soil and bark and herb. It was bats and husks and burrows and moss. It was solid and alive - so alive! And it was close.
The vapors invaded Nicholas' nostrils and his hair rose to their roots. His eyes were as heavy as manhole covers, but he opened them. Through the dying calm inside him snaked a tremble of fear.
The trees themselves seemed tense, waiting. The moonlight was a hard shell, sharp and ready to ready be struck and to ring like steel.
A shadow moved.
It poured like oil from between the tall trees and flowed across dark sandy dirt, lengthening into the middle of the ring. Trees seem to bend toward it, spellbound. A long, long shadow ... ~ Stephen M. Irwin

I'm coming. I'm coming." Michaels rose up on his knees, gripped Judge's hips and yanked him into him, sat him on his rod while his orgasm made its dramatic appearance. His back went ramrod straight, the rapture consuming him. Michaels came on a silent yell. His volume was lacking, but his load was heavy and deep as it flowed inside his partner. Gave Judge all his power. "Damn. I feel you, Austin. So warm," Judge breathed. His partner was floating beneath him. He knew exactly what Judge was feeling. That flooding of warm come, filling him up and searing him inside. Even in the outdoors, the air was thick with their combined scents. More pungent and masculine than the sweet aromas of lavender and lilies. Michaels ~ A.E. Via

Pilgrims

Tuscan reds and ochre hues
Olive greens and skies of blue
Sunlit valleys full of charm
Secluded homestead and hilltop farm

Over hills skim birds in flight
Aromas whet the appetite
Autumn rustle fills the air
Revealing grace of trees laid bare

Pathways meander through the vale
Inviting travelers its height to scale
Sunset rewards as evening ends
And pilgrims to the night descend ~ Collette O'Mahony

The goal in tasting wine is not to "find" the same aromas and flavors some other taster is describing. If you hone your own perceptual abilities and develop the vocabulary to articulate them, you'll not only derive more pleasure from the wine itself, but also stimulate better communication between you and the friends who are sharing the bottle. ~ Marvin Shanken

Also, tonight he reeks too much of beer and cloying cologne. This is a disappointment because I always assumed that a perfect creature such as Brendon would smell of spring rain and mountain bresses and other heavenly aromas. ~ Hannah Harrington

I love Christmas! I'm not religious, but I love the trappings of the season. I love the decorations, and the music, and Santa, and the festive food, and the cinnamon- and vanilla-infused aromas. ~ Jane Cleland

It was very pleasant to savor its aroma, for smells have the power to evoke the past, bringing back sounds and even other smells that have no match in the present. -Tita ~ Laura Esquivel