Burps Smell Quotes

MR. BONES KNEW THAT WILLY WASN'T LONG FOR THIS WORLD. The cough had been inside him for over six months, and by now there wasn't a chance in hell that he would ever get rid of it. Slowly and inexorably, without once taking a turn for the better, the thing had assumed a life of its own, advancing from a faint, phlegm-filled rattle in the lungs on February third to the wheezy sputum-jigs and gobby convulsions of high summer. All that was bad enough, but in the past two weeks a new tonality had crept into the bronchial music - something tight and flinty and percussive - and the attacks came now so often as to be almost constant. Every time one of them started, Mr. Bones half expected Willy's body to explode from the rockets of pressure bursting agaisnt his rib cage. He figured that blood would be the next step and when that fatal moment finally occurred on Saturday afternoon, it was as if all the angels in heaven had opened their mouths and started to sing. Mr. Bones saw it happen with his own eyes, standing by the edge of the road between Washington and Baltimore as Willy hawked up a few miserable clots of red matter into his handkerchief, and right then and there he knew that every ounce of hope was gone. The smell of death had settled upon Willy G. Christmas, and as surely as the sun was a lamp in the clouds that went off and on everyday, the end was drawing near.

What was a poor dog to do? Mr. Bones had been with Willy since his earliest days as a pup, and by now ~ Paul Auster

The voice he did not hear, the scent without a smell. ~ George R R Martin

It's been a long time," he murmured, prowling towards her, drawing to a halt just out of reaching distance.

Not long enough.

Not nearly long enough as the incredible mix of soap, deodorant, and cologne he wore so well had her body responding like he was an original glazed Krispy Kreme.

Still warm from the oven.

Dear God...he did still smell good enough to eat. ~ Amy Andrews

We can taste what's in our mouths, touch what's within our reach, smell within hundreds of metres and hear within tens of miles. But it's only through our vision that we are in communication with the sun and stars. ~ Gavin Francis

Stevie Wonder always smells so good ... I'm like a DEA dog, I can smell people a block away! ~ Gloria Estefan

You smell wonderful," he told her. "So aroused." "That's the bug spray," she said. ~ Sindra Van Yssel

She just shook her head and pulled out a small bottle of some random pop star's signature perfume, spritzing me with the sickly-sweet smell.
"Oh, come on Ash, that smells like a unicorn fart," I cried, recoiling at the overpowering, candylike smell. ~ Cara Lynn Shultz

Poor little corpses! It was too bad they were dead. He couldn't play with them. Even though they really stank. He couldn't stand the smell. They deserved to die for smelling so bad. ~ Arturo Arias

The night air moved up towards the Downs, washing over sea and orchard. I breathed it in, and thought that henceforth, loneliness would smell to me like fermenting apples. ~ Laurie R. King

When a baby comes you can smell two things: the smell of flesh, which smells like chicken soup, and the smell of lilies, the flower of another garden, the spiritual garden. ~ Carlos Santana

You smell like sweat and sex…and me. It's hot. Eau de Cum kicks Chanel Number Five's ass. ~ Emma Chase

It's a physical sickness. Etienne. How much I love him.
I love Etienne.
I love it when he cocks an eyebrow whenever I say something he finds clever or amusing. I love listening to his boots clomp across my bedroom ceiling. I love that the accent over his first name is called an acute accent, and that he has a cute accent.
I love that.
I love sitting beside him in physics. Brushing against him during lands. His messy handwriting on our worksheets. I love handing him his backpack when class is over,because then my fingers smell like him for the next ten minutes. And when Amanda says something lame, and he seeks me out to exchange an eye roll-I love that,too. I love his boyish laugh and his wrinkled shirts and his ridiculous knitted hat. I love his large brown eyes,and the way he bites his nails,and I love his hair so much I could die.
There's only one thing I don't love about him. Her.
If I didn't like Ellie before,it's nothing compared to how I feel now. It doesn't matter that I can count how many times we've met on one hand. It's that first image, that's what I can't shake. Under the streeplamp. Her fingers in his hair. Anytime I'm alone, my mind wanders back to that night. I take it further. She touches his chest. I take it further.His bedroom.He slips off her dress,their lips lock, their bodies press,and-oh my God-my temperature rises,and my stomach is sick.
I fantasize about their breakup. How he could hurt her,and she could hurt him,and ~ Stephanie Perkins

The matches also came into focus: a cheap, bright label, in French. I picked up the box, slid it open, my nose stung by the smell of sulphur. Four matches. I took one, scraped it into life, held it to the oil lamp. A spot of warmth entered the room. ~ Laurie R. King

Despite the feeling that we're directly experiencing the world out there, our reality is ultimately built in the dark, in a foreign language of electrochemical signals. The activity churning across vast neural networks gets turned into your story of this, your private experience of the world: the feeling of this book in your hands, the light in the room, the smell of roses, the sound of others speaking. ~ David Eagleman

Summer in Honolulu brings the sweet smell of mangoes, guava, and passionfruit, ripe for picking; it arbors the streets with the fiery red umbrellas of poincianta trees and decorates the sidewalks with the pink and white puffs of blossoming monkeypods. Cooling trade winds prevail all summer, bringing what the old Hawaiians called makani 'olu' 'olu
"fair wind". ~ Alan Brennert

Sometimes I open or close the store. I have keys. I can go in any time I want. Some days, when it's my duty to open the store, I go in at eight o'clock, just to be alone and smell all those books around me. Each one is a door. Each one is a world. ~ Robert Goolrick

He had forgotten the sharp taste of stone dust that hung around the broken village houses, the dead skinny donkeys' smell and the dead wretched goats' smell, the broken terraces' smell and smashed olive groves' smell, the sour stench of high explosive, the heavy odour of spilled olive oil, all melding into a single smell he came to associate with human beings in trouble. ~ Richard Flanagan

Tea Rose (Perfumer's Workshop) **** green rose $
Composed in 1972, Tea Rose was the first fragrance signed by the great Annie Buzantian (Pleasures), and was in many ways the first niche fragrance: the Perfumer's Workshop did nothing but fragrances, had a small range, was fairly hard to find, and had a devoted following. Tea Rose was and is a rose soliflore that illustrates how complex a composition must be before it can actually claim to smell of rose. The rose it depicts is huge, painted in watercolor, and has the species name written below it in cursive. LT ~ Luca Turin

Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of a Christian man, Be he dead, be he living, with my brand, I'll dash his brains from his brain-pan. ~ Joseph Jacobs

It was a dead hole, smelling of synthetic leather and disinfectant, both of which odors seemed to emanate from the torn scratched material of the seats that lined the three walls. It smelled of the tobacco ashes which had flooded the two standing metal ashtrays. On the chromium lip of one, a cigar butt gleamed wetly like a chewed piece of beef. There was the smell of peanut shells and of the waxy candy wrappers that littered the floor, the smell of old newspapers, dry, inky, smothering and faintly like a urinal, the smell of sweat from armpits and groins and backs and faces, pouring out and drying up in the lifeless air, the smell of clothes - cleaning fluids imbedded in fabric and blooming horribly in the warm sweetish air, picking at the nostrils like thorns - all the exudations of the human flesh, a bouquet of animal being, flowing out, drying up, but leaving a peculiar and ineradicable odor of despair in the room as though chemistry was transformed into spirit, an ascension of a kind,
…Light issuing from spotlights in the ceiling was sour and blinding like a sick breath.
There was in that room an underlying confusion in the function of the senses. Smell became color, color became smell. Mute started at mute so intently they might have been listening with their eyes, and hearing grew preternaturally acute, yet waited only for the familiar syllables of surnames. Taste died, mouth opened in the negative drowsiness of waiting. ~ Paula Fox

Herbes ... comfort the wearied braine with fragrant smells which yielde a certaine kind of nourishment. ~ William H. Coles

Always more, always hungrily scratching for more. But there were times, quiet moments, when our mother was sleeping, when she hadn't slept in two days, and any noise, any stair creak, any shut door, any stifled laugh, any voice at all, might wake her, those still, crystal mornings, when we wanted to protect her, this confused goose of a woman, this stumbler, this gusher, with her backaches and headaches and her tired, tired ways, this uprooted Brooklyn creature, this tough talker, always with tears when she told us she loved us, her mixed-up love, her needy love, her warmth, those mornings when sunlight found the cracks in our blinds and laid itself down in crisp strips on our carpet, those quiet mornings when we'd fix ourselves oatmeal and sprawl onto our stomachs with crayons and paper, with glass marbles that we were careful not to rattle, when our mother was sleeping, when the air did not smell like sweat or breath or mold, when the air was still and light, those mornings when silence was our secret game and our gift and our sole accomplishment - we wanted less: less weight, less work, less noise, less father, less muscles and skin and hair. We wanted nothing, just this, just this. ~ Justin Torres

Silena, take the Aphrodite crew to the Queens-Midtown Tunnel."
Oh my gods," one of her sisters said. "Fifth Avenue is so on our way! We could accessorize, and monsters, like, totally hate the smell of Givenchy. ~ Rick Riordan

And we were married and all the windows were open but the smell of flowers was so thick and sickly sweet. I felt like I might choke to death. ~ Augusten Burroughs

Finished. I can smell it," Elaine said.
"Chocolate. I helped," Tina said.
"She talks clearly for her age. My boys were chatterboxes ~ Carolyn Brown

It was all very puzzling - both that Jill could smell still more like Jill ... and that Dorcas should wish to smell like Jill when she already smelled like herself ... and that Jubal would say that Dorcas smelled like a cat when she did not. There was a cat who lived on the place (not as a pet, but as co-owner); on rare occasions it came to the house and deigned to accept a handout. The cat and Mike had grokked each other at once, and Mike had found its carniverous thoughts most pleasing and quite Martian. He had discovered, too, that the cat's name (Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche) was not the cat's name at all, but he had not told anyone this because he could not pronounce the cat's real name; he could only hear it in its head.
The cat did not smell like Dorcas. ~ Robert A. Heinlein

I turn to Slim. Do I smell? I says. He throws me a startled look. Uh - Ohmigawd, I do. I smell bad. How bad? Go on, you can tell me. Well, he says, you don't smell as bad as some. But you don't smell as good as some neether. I knew it, I says. What'm I gonna do? Yer askin me fer advice? He shakes his head as he says, I'd remind you that I'm wearin a lady dress with no unders. ~ Moira Young

FEBRIZIUM();" said Buggeroff, and the foul smell immediately disappeared as if by, well − Magic. ~ Sorin Suciu

Roasted sweet potatoes are like illicit sex in the old Chinese saying, "Having it isn't as good as not having it." The smell is better than the taste. When you smell it, you feel you must have one, but once you actually sink your teeth into it, you find it's not really anything special. ~ Qian Zhongshu

Don't try to smell the flowers without planting them. ~ Debasish Mridha

Books should confuse. Literature abhors the typical. Literature flows to the particular, the mundane, the greasiness of paper, the taste of warm beer, the smell of onion or quince. Auden has a line: "Ports have names they call the sea." Just so will literature describe life familiarly, regionally, in terms life is accustomed to use
high or low matters not. Literature cannot by this impulse betray the grandeur of its subject
there is only one subject: What it feels like to be alive. Nothing is irrelevant. Nothing is typical. ~ Richard Rodriguez

With a bassy thump and a smell like burnt sulfur, Shitload farted himself far into the air. ~ David Wong

The days get longer and the nights smell green I guess it's not surprising but it's spring and I should leave. ~ Modest Mouse

I still love books. Nothing a computer can do can compare to a book. You can't really put a book on the Internet. Three companies have offered to put books by me on the Net, and I said, 'If you can make something that has a nice jacket, nice paper with that nice smell, then we'll talk.' All the computer can give you is a manuscript. People don't want to read manuscripts. They want to read books. Books smell good. They look good. You can press it to your bosom. You can carry it in your pocket. ~ Ray Bradbury

They lay on their heathery beds and listened to all the sounds of the night. They heard the little grunt of a hedgehog going by. They saw the flicker of bats overhead. They smelt the drifting scent of honeysuckle, and the delicious smell of wild thyme crushed under their bodies. A reed-warbler sang a beautiful little song in the reeds below, and then another answered. ~ Enid Blyton

We were the only customers downstairs in the shop and there were no windows and only two dim bulbs, without shades. There was a pleasant soporific smell, as though the books had stolen most of the air. ~ Ian McEwan

In a forum online I saw a thread about favourite smells. There was the usual stuff about fresh cut grass, babies, and whatever, but slowly a controversial contingent arose which named the smell of their own balls as their favourite aroma. ~ Drew Nellins Smith

We're close. I can smell their faint scent," Blake whispered.
Kieran snorted. "That makes one of us. All I smell is dog shit. ~ Jayde Scott

Ya smell like honey," he said.
"I'm allergic to bees," she whispered.
"I'll do my best not to sting ya, love. ~ Michelle M. Pillow

The smell of good bread baking, like the sound of lightly flowing water, is indescribable in its evocation of innocence and delight ...
[Breadmaking is] one of those almost hypnotic businesses, like a dance from some ancient ceremony. It leaves you filled with one of the world's sweetest smells ... there is no chiropractic treatment, no Yoga exercise, no hour of
meditation in a music-throbbing chapel. that will leave you emptier of bad thoughts than this homely ceremony of making bread. ~ Mary Francis Kennedy Fisher

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

Wow. This place looks classy. The smell of fertilizer and rot is really in this season. Remind me, what are we doing here?" she asked looking at him with a coy smile. "Did we come for bait? ~ Dennis Sharpe

ANTHONY:
I feel you, Johanna, I feel you
Do they think that walls can hide you?
Even now I'm at your window
I am in the dark beside you,
Buried sweetly in your yellow hair, Johanna…

SWEENEY TODD:
And are you beautiful and pale,
With yellow hair, like her
I'd want you beautiful and pale,
The way I've dreamed you were, Johanna...

ANTHONY:
Johanna...

SWEENEY TODD:
And if you're beautiful, what then,
With yellow hair, like wheat?
I think we shall not meet again -
My little dove, my sweet Johanna…

ANTHONY:
I'll steal you, Johanna…

SWEENEY TODD:
Goodbye, Johanna.
You're gone, and yet you're mine.
I'm fine, Johanna, I'm fine!

ANTHONY:
Johanna…

BEGGAR WOMAN:
Smoke! Smoke! Sign of the devil! Sign of the devil!
City on fire!
Witch! Witch! Smell it, sir! An evil smell!
Every night at the vespers bell -
Smoke that comes from the mouth of hell -
City on fire! City on fire!
Mischief! Mischief! Mischief...

SWEENEY TODD:
And if I never hear your voice,
My turtledove, my dear,
I still have reason to rejoice:
The way ahead is clear, Johanna...

JOHANNA:
I'll marry Anthony Sunday
Anthony…Sunday…

ANTHONY:
I feel you…

SWEENEY TODD:
And in that darkness when I'm blind
With what I can't forget -
~ Stephen Sondheim

But one day you're going to wake up to the smell of a friend making burnt toast and warm coffee, and you're going to smile with relief knowing you made it. Knowing somebody found ways to love you. ~ Vanessa Hogg

Are you sure this isn't instant boots? asked Cordelia sadly, for in color, taste, and smell they closely resembled pulverized shoe leather pressed into wafers. ~ Lois McMaster Bujold