We have never been big smokers, neither Cheech [Marine] nor I. We were too creative, and we had a lot to do. We are actors and to be honest, I am the type of person that can reference a thought or a smell and get high.
You stick your nose in the dirt until you find something that smells good.
I love to cook. In fact, at this exact moment, I am trying something new: I am cooking a whole chicken in my crockpot, which I've never done before. I browned it with garlic powder, salt and pepper, and I put a bunch of celery and onions - which I'll have to hide from the children because they claim to hate onions - and I'm going to make homemade mashed cream potatoes. I always, before I leave for work in the morning, have supper cooking. That way, when I come home and they come home from school, there's all kinds of good smells in the house.
Some people eat the tuna, some people roll it up into a ball. Also, the sort of disgusting texture and smell, I think, adds something to the experience.
I love baking, it's the most calming thing for me. It's therapeutic, it makes the house smell good, and I get to take the goods to my friends. I do it for other people.
If you were to close your eyes and walk into a place of worship, the sounds and smells would alert you to where you were: ringing bells, incense, the rumble of a massive organ. Most brands are lacking these sensory stimuli.
I've just been playing the Trout Quintet on the phonograph. Listening to the andantino makes me want to be a trout myself. You can't help rejoicing and laughing, however moved or sad you feel, when you see the springtime clouds in the sky, the budding branches, moved by the wind, in the bright early sunlight. I'm really looking forward to the spring again. In that piece of Schubert's you can positively feel and smell the breeze and hear the birds and the whole of creation shouting for joy.
I still buy actual books. The smell, having it in your hands - there's really no substitute.
Leia follows me like a vague smell.
Do you know that books smell like nutmeg or some spice from a foreign land? I loved to smell them when I was a boy. Lord, there were a lot of lovely books once, before we let them go.
A slavish concern for the composition of words is the sign of a bankrupt intellect. Be gone, odious wasp! You smell of decayed syllables.
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.
My book should smell of pines and resound with the hum of insects.
We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered.
CLARE: The library is cool and smells like carpet cleaner, although all I can see is marble.
When I was still quite young I had a complete presentiment of life. It was like the nauseating smell of cooking escaping from a ventilator: you don't have to have eaten it to know that it would make you throw up.
The musty smell, the bugs, the lonliness, this room, which is part of the street outside-this is all I want from life.
It is easy to love people when they smell good, but sometimes they slip into the manure of life and smell awful. You must love them just as much when they smell foul.
First you have nothing, and then, astonishingly, after ripping out your brain and your heart and betraying your friends and ex-lovers and dreaming like a zombie over the page till you can't see or hear or smell or taste, you have something.
Pretty soon the only people left without a girlfriend will be me and Wendell the school janitor, and he smells like windex." "At least you know he's still available.
At some time in the recent past someone had decided to brighten the ancient corridors of the University by painting them, having some vague notion that Learning Should Be Fun. It hadn’t worked. It’s a fact known throughout the universes that no matter how carefully the colors are chosen, institutional decor ends up as either vomit green, unmentionable brown, nicotine yellow or surgical appliance pink. By some little-understood process of sympathetic resonance, corridors painted in those colors always smell slightly of boiled cabbage—even if no cabbage is ever cooked in the vicinity.
You smell good, too,” said Patch It’s called a shower.” I was staring straight ahead. When he didn’t answer, I turned sideways. “Soap. Shampoo. Hot water.” Naked. I know the drill.
But what is memory if not the language of feeling, a dictionary of faces and days and smells which repeat themselves like the verbs and adjectives in a speech, sneaking in behind the thing itself,into the pure present, making us sad or teaching us vicariously.
Would I be as strong as that once I did that thing Christophe was talking about? Blooming? Would I smell like a bakery item? Or was that just him? Did he use pie filling for cologne?
The smell of apple pies didn't quite fill the house, but it was there, a thread under everything else. It was kind of hard to take Christophe seriously when he smelled like baked goods. I wondered if other djampjir smelled like Hostess Twinkies and sniggered to myself.
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