Oscar Wilde Quotes

I love to smell like roses, literally all day!

There was the blue sky above her and all those many roses, the ones that gave off the scent of cloves in the rain and the ones that left a trace of lemon on your fingers, the ones that were the color of blood, and those that were as white as clouds. Each one was sweeter than the next and as red as gemstones.

I like perfume and flowers.

The heavy smell of flower petals stroked the walls of my lungs.

Perfumes are the feelings of flowers.

The lime trees were in bloom. But in the early morning only a faint fragrance drifted through the garden, an airy message, an aromatic echo of the dreams during the short summer night.

Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don't they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.

Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.

Won't you come into the garden? I would like my roses to see you.

Have you seen the roses? There's a whole lot of colours.

To me, flowers are happiness.

Where hast thou wandered, gentle gale, to find the perfumes thou dost bring?

My husband always smells good to me.

Perfume is pretty good because nobody has to hold the product by their face or use it.

Nothing can beat the smell of dew and flowers and the odor that comes out of the earth when the sun goes down.

I just love good smells.

I plant rosemary all over the garden, so pleasant is it to know that at every few steps one may draw the kindly branchlets through one's hand, and have the enjoyment of their incomparable incense; and I grow it against walls, so that the sun may draw out its inexhaustible sweetness to greet me as I pass.

Smell is a potent wizard that transports you across thousands of miles and all the years you have lived. The odors of fruits waft me to my southern home, to my childhood frolics in the peach orchard. Other odors, instantaneous and fleeting, cause my heart to dilate joyously or contract with remembered grief. Even as I think of smells, my nose is full of scents that start awake sweet memories of summers gone and ripening fields far away.

And where she went, the flowers took thickest root, As she had sow'd them with her odorous foot.

When I was a boy, I thought scent was contained in dewdrops on flowers and if I got up very early in the morning, I could collect it and make perfume.

Peppermint swirled into my nostrils, sharp as glass, then raspberry almost to sweet, like too-ripe fruit. Apple, crisp and pure. Nuts, buttery, warm, earthy

I'm obsessed with smells even more than makeup.