Aromas Quotes

“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, Like Water for Chocolate

“The fragrance of white tea is the feeling of existing in the mists that float over waters; the scent of peony is the scent of the absence of negativity: a lack of confusion, doubt, and darkness; to smell a rose is to teach your soul to skip; a nut and a wood together is a walk over fallen Autumn leaves; the touch of jasmine is a night's dream under the nomad's moon.”
― C. JoyBell C.

“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, The Four-Story Mistake

“First, I see her catch the scent. It's a combination of many things; the Christmas tree in the corner; the musty aroma of old house; orange and clove; ground coffee; hot milk; patchouli; cinnamon- and chocolate, of course; intoxicating, rich as Croesus, dark as death.
She looks around, sees wall hangings, pictures, bells, ornaments, a dollhouse in the window, rugs on the floor- all in chrome yellow and fuchsia-pink and scarlet and gold and green and white. It's like an opium den in here, she almost says, then wonders at herself for being so fanciful. In fact she has never seen an opium den- unless it was in the pages of the Arabian Nights- but there's something about the place, she thinks. Something almost- magical.”
― Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow

“Her small bedroom was decorated with cheerfully embroidered samplers, which she had stitched herself, and a shelf containing an intricate shellwork tableau. In her parlor, the chimneypiece was crammed with pottery owls, sheep, and dogs, and dishes painted with blue and white Chinoiserie fruits and flowers. Along the picture rail of one wall was an array of brightly colored plates. Dotted about the other walls were half a dozen seascape engravings showing varying climactic conditions, from violent tempest to glassy calm. To the rear was an enormous closet that she used as a storeroom, packed with bottled delicacies such as greengage plums in syrup, quince marmalade, nasturtium pickles, and mushroom catsup, which infused all three rooms with the sharp but tantalizing aromas of vinegar, fruit, and spices.”
― Janet Gleeson, The Thief Taker

“Leaning over the tray he inhaled deeply, letting the steam-laden aroma flood all the way through him. The soft green clouds with the most delicate golden crusts smelled as perfect as they looked. Pistachio with a hint of saffron. was there even such a thing as a hint of saffron? It was the loudest understated spice, like a soft-spoken person you couldn't stop listening to. Like the hidden lilts inside a well-held aria. Like the beauty within making what someone looked like on the outside meaningless, slowly, one encounter at a time. No matter how subtle you tried to make it, saffron always shone through, it became the soul of your preparation.
He nodded at Rajesh, who stood at the ready with the cashews DJ had candied to perfection with butter and brown sugar. He started to arrange three at the center of each ramekin in a clover of paisleys, then tucked a sugarwork swirl next to it to top things off just so.”
― Sonali Dev, Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors

“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, The Cake Therapist

“When she returned to Bella Vista, she discovered Isabel in her manic-baking mode. The kitchen was filled with the aromas of butter, vanilla and cinnamon. She'd created Danishes and rugelach and crispy twisty things that promised to glue themselves promptly to Tess's hips.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Apple Orchard

“A great flood of aromas swamped the noise, thick as soup and foaming with flavors: powdery sugars and crystallized fruit, dank slabs of beef and boiling cabbage, sweating onions and steaming beets. Fronts of fresh-baked bread rolled forward then sweeter cakes. Behind the whiffs of roasting capons and braising bacon came the great smoke-blackened ham which hung in the hearth. Fish was poaching somewhere in a savory liquor at once sweet and tart, its aromas braided in twirling spirals... The silphium, thought John. A moment later it was lost in the tangle of scents that rose from the other pots, pans and great steaming urns. The rich stew of smells and tastes reaching into his memory to haul up dishes and platters.”
― Lawrence Norfolk, John Saturnall's Feast

“La cucina bears the scents of its past, and every event in its history is recorded with an olfactory memorandum. Here vanilla, coffee, nutmeg, and confidences; there the milky-sweet smell of babies, old leather, sheep's cheese, and violets. In the corner by the larder hangs the stale tobacco smell of old age and death, while the salty scent of lust and satiation clings to the air by the cellar steps along with the aroma of soap, garlic, beeswax, lavender, jealousy, and disappointment.”
― Lily Prior, La Cucina

“The Vintner's Guide to Precisely Categorizing the Wines of France mentioned all sorts of incredibly nuanced aromas in very expensive wine: slate, bark, cherries, strange herbs, all of which she had to imagine, since cidre and local vin ordinaire were all they had in the village.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“Again I linger over the names. Crème de cassis. Three nut cluster. I select a dark nugget from a tray marked Eastern Journey. Crystallized ginger in a hard sugar shell, releasing a mouthful of liqueur like a concentration of spices, a breath of aromatic air where sandalwood and cinnamon and lime vie for attention with cedar and allspice... I take another, from a tray marked Pêche au miel millefleurs. A slice of peach steeped in honey and eau-de-vie, a crystallized peach sliver on the chocolate lid.”
― Joanne Harris, Chocolat

“A fresh, uplifting mélange of Italian bergamot, mandarin, and raspberry that comprised the opening accord filled her nostrils with the carefree scents of spring. Her imagination soared with memories. The gardens of Bellerose, picnic baskets bursting with summer fruits on sunny Mediterranean beaches, summers spent on the Riviera, yacht parties, and the casino in Monte Carlo. The plain little bottle held the essence of the happy life she had known.
She inhaled again, closed her eyes, and allowed her mind to wander, to visualize the images the aroma evoked. Excitement coursed through her veins. She imagined a glamorous, luxurious lifestyle of exotic locales, mysterious lovers, sandy beaches, glittering parties, elegant gowns, and precious jewels.
And amid it all, sumptuous bouquets of fabulous flowers, enchanting and romantic, intense aromas of pure, bridal white jasmine and sultry tuberose, and the heady, evocative aroma of rose. Seductive spices, clove with musk and patchouli, smoothed with sandalwood and vanilla, elegant and sensual, like a lover in the night.
And finally, she realized what was missing. A strong, smooth core, a warm amber blend that would provide a deep connection to the soul. Love.”
― Jan Moran, Scent of Triumph

“The kitchen smelled amazing. Turkey-apple sausage sizzled in a blackened iron skillet on the sturdy old eight-burner gas range. Thick slices of bread toasted in a shiny vintage Toastmaster. Hair tied back, sleeves rolled up on her blouse, apron around her waist, Grace tossed a handful of pecans into the skillet and let them brown with the sausage while she flipped a cheddar-filled omelet in another pan. The heady aroma of freshly ground black dark-roast coffee filled the kitchen.”
― Jeffrey Stepakoff, The Orchard

“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 it. "I think I can bring up a butter note in here." A blissful expression came over her face as she sniffed the computer's new modulation. "Try this," she said, moving the cup toward Dylan.
Eagerly, he leaned in to her, his head nearly against hers, their hair touching as she held the nose cup out for him. He took in a whiff. "How about just a little more butter?"
She adjusted a dial and leaned even closer, so that they were both taking in the scent from the one nose cup.
Grace turned to him and they locked eyes, their faces together, their hands together on the nose cup before them, which eased forth the intoxicating aroma of hot apple pie.”
― Jeffrey Stepakoff, The Orchard

“Waiters began to appear with tureens of soup, platters of fish and meat, and bowls of vegetables. Another with a huge gold tasting spoon hanging like a necklace at his chest showed the Count a bottle of wine, which he approved, and when opened, sniffed the cork, and then nodded so that a glass could be poured for me. He ordered the waiters to put everything on the table and retreat to the rear of the room. "I will serve her," he said. "Tell me what you would like, Mina."
I opened my mouth to speak, but he put a finger to my lips. "Not that way. Tell me with your thoughts."
Without looking at the food, I directed my attention by scent to the tureen of turtle soup, whose aroma I recognized from my first dinner at the asylum. "Yes, good," the Count said, ladling out a small bowlful for me. "What else?"
I relished the aromas of the white fish with wine and capers, the lamb with mint sauce, and the carrots, but rejected the turnips, which I had eaten for so many years at Miss Hadley's that I had come to abhor them. My repulsion made him laugh, and he signaled for a waiter to take the bowl away.”
― Karen Essex, Dracula in Love

“As for the smells I associate with her, I was a bit of a swot too, so I love all the stationery aromas: the woody/metallic aroma of pencil shavings, the flat winey smell of ink, the sticky sweetness of a leaking biro and- my favorite- the almost talcum-powder softness of a new exercise book.
For her veggie diet there is the powerful grassiness of leafy vegetables, the caramel of sweet potatoes, carrots and beetroots roasting, and the sulfurous note of brassicas. The nutty starchiness of brown rice and other whole grains. The green tang of fresh herbs, warm ginger. The bite of garlic and the spiciness of coriander seeds, cardamom, turmeric and chili. White flowers for her youthful freshness and lemon for her mental sharpness.

So my scents for a daughter are:

Gold Heart v. 4 by Map of the Heart
Botanical Essence No. 20 Rose by Liz Earle (it has a carrot seed note in it)
Wild Green by Bronley
White Musk by The Body Shop
Neroli by Annick Goutal
Cristalle by Chanel”
― Maggie Alderson, The Scent of You

“The aroma of garlic and saffron wafted through the air from a corner café. When they approached the boulangerie, Danielle detected the sweet scent of calissons d'Aix, the almond cookies she had loved as a girl. "Let's stop."
In the bakery Philippe selected fresh breads, including brioche and Danielle's favorite, fougassette, a flat bread made with orange blossom water.”
― Jan Moran, Scent of Triumph

“I tried to read the menu, but I kept getting distracted. The aromas from the kitchen filled the room- melting butter, grilling meat, soft and sharp spices. All of them better than any of the restaurant smells I'd had to pass by during my time in the city. My mouth was watering, and my nose was so focused that I could barely skim the first few items.
Sablefish with miso glaze
Duck, dry-aged and served with pureed butternut squash
Wagyu New York strip
I had no idea what these things were, except for duck, which I couldn't help but feel sorry for. Dry-aged sounded like an especially bad death for a waterfowl.
The waiter returned. "Shall I order for us?" Victoria asked. I nodded, grateful. "Anything you don't eat? Allergies?"
I shook my head. Nobody had ever asked me that before. On the island, I'd eaten what I gathered. At the cove, I ate what came to the table. Now I'd eat anything that didn't involve the jar in my backpack.
"We'll start with the clam chowder," Victoria said. "We can order more later." The waiter nodded respectfully and disappeared again. "They make it with fresh clams," she told me. "It's exceptional."
A young woman with a fancy braid in her hair brought us a basket of French bread, still warm from the oven. I watched as Victoria spread one slice with butter that melted as she applied it, releasing the faintest scent of flowers.
"Here," she said, handing it to me. The crust gave way under my teeth with a delicate crunch, the butter soft on my tongue. It tasted even better than it smelled. After almost two weeks of hard mattresses and strangers and failure, I wanted to crawl inside the comfort of this bread and stay there forever.”
― Erica Bauermeister, The Scent Keeper

“Nutmeg." Claudia grabbed the bottle and screwed the cap back on. The story was still filtering through me when a new scent exploded forth.
"Orris root," Claudia said, tapping the new bottle on the table. "Am I going too fast for you?"
"No," I lied.
"Good."
Linden blossom. Tonka bean. Benzoin. The smells came at me, little glass missiles fired across the table in rapid succession.
"The point is speed and precision," Claudia said. She pushed a stack of papers toward me, the pages divided into rows and columns. "Put each scent in a category. Fresh, floral, woody, spicy, animal, marine, fruity. You need to recognize them instantly, without thinking."
The bottles started again, and the world turned into charts and rows, filled with an onslaught of strange names. Litsea cubeba. Frangipani. Neroli. Tagette. Orange broke into pieces, became pettigrain, bergamot, tangerine, mandarin, bitter, sweet, and blood. Pepper was black, green, or pink. Mint was winter, spear, or pepper.”
― Erica Bauermeister, The Scent Keeper

“The scents of chocolate and other rich ingredients filled the air. Vanilla, sugar... raspberry, apricots... almonds, pistachios, pecans... cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamom, cayenne. Celina breathed in. She loved the aromas of her artistry.”
― Jan Moran, The Chocolatier