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Quote by Virginia Hartman

“Fragrances rise up---the thyme's spicy astringency and the fuzzy menthol of the sage, the chamomile's daisy-petal smell and the piney cool rosemary. The lavender, not yet in flower, is surprisingly mute. I direct the mist toward the basil, and the aroma jumps up like a lemon tree eating a pizza.”

Quote by Virginia Hartman

Book:The Marsh Queen
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The Marsh Queen

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Virginia Hartman

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“I bring my wrist to my nose---and I'm lost in a melody of fragrances---sweet and musky. Almonds? Vanilla? Florals? A switch clicks in my brain, a feeling of exhilaration rolling through my body in waves. I'm at a loss for words. Garrance really captured something special; she knows what she's doing. "Do you like it?" I smell my wrist again, my eyes wide. "Like it? I love it. What's in it?" "A little frangipani, some ylang-ylang, a bit of almond oil, and a light sandalwood musk.”

PerfumeScentsFragrancesFloral
Book:The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique
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“It’s important to be sincere and empathetic in your approach, acknowledging her feelings while reminding her of her strength and resilience. Let her know that you believe in her, that you’re proud of how she’s handling the situation, and that you’re there for her every step of the way.”

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Book:365 Ways a Year to Cater to Her: Because She Deserves Your Best-Not Occasionally, but Always
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“I've had a heap o' comfort all my life makin' quilts, and now in my old age I wouldn't take a fortune for 'em. Set down here, child, where you can see out o' the winder and smell the lilacs, and we'll look at 'em all. You see, some folks has albums to put folks' pic tures in to remember :em by, and some folks has a book and writes down the things that happen every day so they won't forgit 'em; but, honey, these quilts is my albums and my di'ries, and whenever the weather's bad and I can't git out to see folks, I jest spread out my quilts and look at 'em and study over 'em, and it's jest like goin' back fifty or sixty years and livin' my life over agin. "There ain't nothin' like a piece o' caliker for bringin' back old times, child, unless it's a flower or a bunch o'thyme or a piece o' pennyroy'l — anything that smells sweet. Why, I can go out yonder in the yard and gether a bunch o' that purple lilac and jest shut my eyes and see faces I ain't seen for fifty years, and somethin' goes through me like a flash o' lightnin', and it seems like I'm young agin jest for that minute.”

MemoriesHistoryQuiltsFragrancesRemembering Loved OnesCalico
Author:Eliza Calvert Hall
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“There is a touch of cumin to bring harmony to the floral chord, a carnal romance at the heart of the fragrance." Rapacine reached for Iris's arm and smelled the fragrance on her; a satisfied smile spreading on her face. "And at last, a sensual and animalic base: ambergris, salty and erotic; sandalwood, milky and sacred, and... I couldn't resist an iris note, but iris is a mute flower, the bloom will not give its scent---" "That tracks, I'm a mute flower at work, too." "No, you misunderstand. Live iris has a scent, but its scent is impossible to extract like other flowers. Iris guards its fragrance fiercely. What I used in the base is orris, a material that is made from the iris root, which takes years to mature, that is tender, powdery, and intimate. You are named for a rare and precious fragrance, one whose character is both ethereal and yet rooted in soft earth." Iris was in awe.”

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Book:Full Bloom
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“Detective Inspector Carver took a picture from the breast pocket of his suit. He handed it to me. ‘This is what you did, Michael. Take a good look. See if it jogs your memory.’ I gawped at the mutilated corpse of a naked young girl lying on a blood-soaked double bed. Her hands were bound to the brass headboard with duct tape. Blood covered her upper body, and her long blonde hair was streaked a murderous shade of red. One eye stared at the ceiling as if searching for salvation, the other, a bloody unrecognisable pulp, bore no relation to its sightless counterpart. ‘Carla Marie Coombs. Twenty-one years of age. Do you recognise her, Michael?”

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Book:The Abattoir of Dreams
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