Oscar de la Renta Quotes

Perfumes are the feelings of flowers.

I love the smell of vanilla, but I didn't have perfumes growing up, so I wore vanilla extract.

I stood tip-toe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which with a modest pride Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside, Their scantly leaved, and finely tapering stems, Had not yet lost those starry diadems Caught from the early sobbing of the morn.

I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen, of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been; Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were, with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair.

The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

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

I guess I remembered clearest of all the early mornings, when the lake was cool and motionless, remembered how the bedroom smelled of the lumber it was made of and of the wet woods whose scent entered through the screen.

To make a perfume, take some rose water and wash your hands in it, then take a lavender flower and rub it with your palms, and you will achieve the desired effect

Yon rosebuds in the morning-dew, how pure amang the leaves sae green!

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

His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise.

Pride of the dewy morning, The swain's experienced eye From thee takes timely warning. Nor trusts the gorgeous sky.

The breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air than in the hand.

Where have all the flowers gone

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.

In my nostrils still lives the breath of flowers that perished twenty years ago.

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.

The birds that were singing in the dew-drenched garden seemed to be telling the flowers about her.

In Egypt, I loved the perfume of the lotus. A flower would bloom in the pool at dawn, filling the entire garden with a blue musk so powerful it seemed that even the fish and ducks would swoon. By night, the flower might wither but the perfume lasted. Fainter and fainter, but never quite gone. Even many days later, the lotus remained in the garden. Months would pass and a bee would alight near the spot where the lotus had blossomed, and its essence was released again, momentary but undeniable.

There is nothing more beautiful than nature early in the morning.

The candle-buds opened their wide white flowers....Their scent spilled out into the air and took possession of the island.

... my mother adorned with flowers whatever shabby house we were forced to live in.