smell

_more than a half million books, all of them smelling like dust and ink, two terrible smells that blend mystically to make something beautiful. Powells is another church to me, a paperback sort of heaven.

I still love the book-ness of books, the smell of books: I am a book fetishist__ooks to me are the coolest and sexiest and most wonderful things there are.

As soon as I got into the library I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I got a whiff of the leather on all the old books, a smell that got real strong if you picked one of them up and stuck your nose real close to it when you turned the pages. Then there was the the smell of the cloth that covered the brand-new books, books that made a splitting sound when you opened them. Then I could sniff the the paper, that soft, powdery, drowsy smell that comes off the page in little puffs when you're reading something or looking at some pictures, kind of hypnotizing smell.I think it's the smell that makes so many folks fall asleep in the library. You'll see someone turn a page and you can imagine a puff of page powder coming up real slow and easy until it starts piling on a person's eyelashes, weighing their eyes down so much they stay down a little longer after each blink and finally making them so heavy that they just don't come back up at all. Then their mouths open and their heads start bouncing up and down like they're bobbing in a big tub of of water for apples and before you know it... they're out cold and their face thunks smack-dab on the book.That's the part that makes librarians the maddest. They get real upset if folks start drooling in the books

The library was a little old shabby place. Francie thought it was beautiful. The feeling she had about it was as good as the feeling she had about church. She pushed open the door and went in. She liked the combined smell of worn leather bindings, library past and freshly inked stamping pads better than she liked the smell of burning incense at high mass.

Y__ll might as well come on out,_ I said. __ know you__e there. I can smell you.___mell me? But I just took a shower this morning!_ an indignant voice drifted out of the shadows.There was a loud sound, like someone was getting smacked upside the head. Then another voice let out a low mutter.__hut up, idiot.

I still smell your absence on my skin. It smells of insomnia and rusted key locks...

Does wisdom perhaps appear on the earth as a raven which is inspired by the smell of carrion?

I actually get quite sad when I smell bacon.

Memories, imagination, old sentiments, and associations are more readily reached through the sense of smell than through any other channel.

I love things that are indescribable, like the taste of an avocado or the smell of a gardenia.

I love the smell of juice boxes in the morning.

I love the smell of paper in the morning it smells like victory.

He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight for a few seconds. Hisbreaths tickle my ear, and I close my eyes, letting myself finally relax. Hesmells like wind and sweat and soap, like Tobias and like safety.

At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.

You're only hurting yourself. Besides, the citizens like blood, don't they? They smell it.

In your Curled petals what ghosts Of blue headlands and seas, What perfumed immortal breath sighing Of Greece.

Tropical trees had been planted throughout the room, along with bright flowering plants that were busy committing the olfactory floral equivalent of aggravated assault.

I hope that while so many people are out smelling the flowers, someone is taking the time to plant some.