Top 89 Quotes About The Smell Of Him
#1. The smell of him when he was sleeping, the sound of his breathing -- that was home and everything I wanted at the end of the day.
Maggie Stiefvater
#2. I miss the smell of him. I miss his lips and his strong arms. I miss him.
Kimberly Derting
#3. He'd kissed her, and she'd been poleaxed, frozen in place, because his mouth had felt like coming home. The taste of him, the smell of him, the sound of his breath-the slow slide of his tongue over and around and down the lenght of hers, it had all said, Here's your place,girl,here with me.
Tara Janzen
#4. Tony got up from his desk and crouched down beside her. She was instantly aware of the smell of him, a mixture of shampoo and his own fain, animal scent.
Val McDermid
#5. The smell of him and the touch of his skin, I feel my desire for him rise again and we move together.
Philippa Gregory
#6. She'd know the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him anywhere.
Beth Harbison
#7. Hugo could smell the fresh scent of apples all around him, and he realized he'd never go to an orchard again without thinking of Erin being lifted toward that perfect apple and the smile on her face as she took a bite.
Posy Roberts
#8. Wow. This place looks classy. The smell of fertilizer and rot is really in this season. Remind me, what are we doing here?" she asked looking at him with a coy smile. "Did we come for bait?
Dennis Sharpe
#9. She could smell the storm on him, like the lightning had followed him home, like he was made of the same dense rain clouds.
Leigh Bardugo
#10. She hates herself a little for it. Zoey can smell him now, an acrid tang of body odor mixed with the last tinges of vanilla that all the clothes are washed in. The scent makes her want to vomit. "Pretty,
Joe Hart
#11. Why do you need to see him? (Remi)
Wolf business, and the last time I sniffed, which I'm trying real hard not to do 'cause the stench of you assholes is rough on my heightened sense of smell, you're a bear. Grab his hide and send it over. (Fury)
Sherrilyn Kenyon
#12. His lady scowls and asks, "Are you a man? If you can't stand the smell, get out of the can. I'd whack him myself, but he looks like my dad, And killing him thus would be Freudian mad.
Mr. Z
#13. And when Dr. Daruwalla breathed in her dangerous aroma, he thought he'd at last identified the smell of sex, which struck him as an earthy commingling of death and flowers
John Irving
#14. I lower my chin to smell the shirt again. I want to wear this forever, without washing it. His dark, spicy aroma consumes the material. I peek at him from the corner of my eye, wondering if he spots me catching a whiff or if he knows how addicting his scent is to girls.
Katie McGarry
#15. Hello," he said, on his best behavior now. "I just wanted to smell you." "Oh." Lines between her eyebrows, the tone of her voice making him want to close his eyes and just listen. "Do you sniff everyone you meet?
Nalini Singh
#16. How could they be in the same room and not joke about some smell or make fun of some clueless slouch nearby? How could she ever stand in front of him and not leap at the chance to communicate telepathically?
James Dashner
#17. He who comes from the kitchen, smells of its smoke; and he who adheres to a sect, has something of its cant; the college air pursues the student; and dry inhumanity him who herds with literary pedants.
Johann Kaspar Lavater
#18. He was the smell of winter rain and the sound of his predator's heartbeat
L.J.Smith
#19. If a man keeps on talking negatively and we scold him, what is that tantamount to? It is like kicking the door of a latrine because it smells bad; will kicking it make it smell good?
Dada Bhagwan
#20. I remember the feel and smell and taste of him. Heat and wood smoke and sunrise, but no longer. Cal smells like blood, his skin is ice, and I tell myself I don't want to taste him ever again.
Victoria Aveyard
#21. I buried my face against his neck, breathing him in - the smell of machine oil, summertime, a thousand memories
L.A. Weatherly
#22. He lay in darkness, like a sacrifice; he could hear the teeth of his leprosy devouring his flesh. There was a smell of contempt around him, insisting on his impotence. But his lips were bowed in a placid smile, a look of fondness, as if he had come at last to approve his disintegration.
Stephen R. Donaldson
#23. I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.
Madeline Miller
#24. They chose the one nearest a gold-coloured cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Harry had ever inhaled: somehow it reminded him simultaneously of treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle and something flowery he thought he might have smelled at The Burrow.
J.K. Rowling
#25. He didn't think of the rot as a disease. His mind was sharp, but he'd been swallowed by lies that had long ago persuaded him that this was the way all good men should look and move and feel. Pain was natural. The smell of rotting flesh was more a scent of wholesome humanity than a stench.
Ted Dekker
#26. He stands, loosening his black tie and stripping off his white shirt, dropping the latter just in front of my face. The appetizing smell of him reaches my face in a goading wave. As he walks around my body to the bed, he slaps my ass, making me turn and yelp.
Felicity Brandon
#27. Very slowly Elizabeth leaned forward until her forehead rested on his shoulder, shuddering with pleasure and relief at the feel of him, at his smell.
Sara Donati
#28. The heat rose up my neck, wrapped fingers over my face. His hair fell around me, and I could smell nothing but him. The grain of his lips seemed to rest a hairsbreadth from mine.
Madeline Miller
#29. She followed him into a dark parlor to which clung the musky sweet smell of clean Negro, snuff, and Hearts of Love hairdressing. Several shadowy forms rose when she entered.
Harper Lee
#31. He leaned over to kiss the top of my head, and then groaned. I looked at him, puzzled.
"You smell so good in the rain," he explained.
"In a good way, or in a bad way?" I asked cautiously.
He sighed. "Both, always both.
Stephenie Meyer
#32. Hadrian reeked of death. It wasn't the sort of stench others could smell or that water could wash, but it lingered on him like sweat-saturated pores after a long night of drinking.
Michael J. Sullivan
#33. Years from now this will be what I remember when I remember my spring break senior year. It will be this moment right here. The smell of chlorine on his skin. The way the sun dips slow into the water before it disappears. The first time I ever told a boy I loved him.
Jenny Han
#34. Downstairs in the kitchen, Marco and Sophia - my grandparents, who have insisted I call them by their first names - were already there. Sophia stood over the oven, pans hissing, as the smell of bacon filled the air. Marco sat at the table, the morning newspaper opened up in front of him.
Jessica Sorensen
#35. Do we smell nothing as yet of the divine decomposition? Gods, too, decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him.
Friedrich Nietzsche
#37. The cooler days have brought a wistful mood upon him. The smell of coalsmoke in the air at night. Old times, dead years. For him such memories are bitter ones.
Cormac McCarthy
#38. I'm her boyfriend. She really only have to listen to what I say."
She moved closer to him. "I am gonna kill you today, Tom. I can smell it on the air."
"Really?" he asked. "I would've thought the cigs'd taken care of your sense of smell by now.
Lia Habel
#39. There in the sweet sacking smell of the mail bags he understood that he was dying, and it pleased him that he was going in the company of so many soft words home.
Chris Cleave
#40. The smell of beer surrounded him in a cloud as if he'd been doused in Eau de Frat Boy cologne.
B.V. Lawson
#41. Santiago Nasar had often told me that the smell of closed-in flowers had an immediate relation to death for him.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez
#42. The smell of food made him realize how ravenous he was. There was hot bread and honey, a bowl of pease porridge, a skewer of roast onions and well-charred meat. He sat by the tray, pulled apart the bread with his hands, and stuffed some into his mouth.
George R R Martin
#43. She liked his unique smell, and it turned on all five of her senses, wanting to see him naked, touch him while naked, hear him as he moaned while he made love, taste his skin, and feel his naked body as she seduced him with the trailing of hungry fingers.
Keira D. Skye
#44. Oh, yes! They, like the lotus flower, make your trouble forgotten. It smell so like the waters of Lethe, and of that fountain of youth that the Conquistadores sought for in the Floridas, and find him all too late. Whilst
Bram Stoker
#45. A sense of the Finn's presence surrounded him, smell of Cuban cigarettes, smoke locked in musty tweed, old machines given up to the mineral rituals of rust.
William Gibson
#46. That smell - cigarette - it always made me think of him. He smoked his cigarette. I drove. I didn't mind the silence and the desert and the cloudless sky. What did words matter to a desert?
Benjamin Alire Saenz
#47. I breathed him in, feeling the effect of him - his nearness, his support - permeate my being. The smell of his soap was muted now, the naturally seductive scent of his skin altering the fragrance into something richer and more delicious. When I was restless, he settled me.
Sylvia Day
#48. Freak is easily spooked. Flesh-eating monsters tend to scare him away. So do fireworks, clowns, and the smell of Sadie's weird British Ribena drink. (Can't blame him on that last one. Sadie grew up in London and developed some pretty strange tastes.
Rick Riordan
#49. This is not Winterfell', he told him as he cut his meat with fork and dagger. 'On the Wall, a man gets only what he earns. You're no ranger, Jon, only a green boy with the smell of summer still on you.
George R R Martin
#50. The smell of her hair lingered just out of reach of his memory and left him with a nervous hum resonating throughout his body like a child forced to sit in church while the sun was shining outside on a perfectly good summer's day.
Erik Tomblin
#51. He moves closer and leans down so I will look at him. And I feel sick, literally nauseated by the smell of bourbon on his breath. And yet I still want to fold myself up and put my entire body in his arms. I am loving him and hating him at the same time.
Kathryn Stockett
#52. I want you. Feeling the grip of his hand in mine, the brush of skin on mine, seeing the way he moved in front of me, equal parts human and wolf, and remembering his smell - I ached with wanting to kiss him.
Maggie Stiefvater
#53. Virtually drowning in himself, he could not for the life of him smell himself.
Patrick Suskind
#54. God, everything about him radiated sex, from the strength in his body to the way he moved to the smell of his skin.
J.R. Ward
#55. This day will never come again and anyone who fails to eat and drink and taste and smell it will never have it offered to him again in all eternity. The sun will never shine as it does today ... But you must play your part and sing a song, one of your best.
Hermann Hesse
#56. He flicked through the yellowed rough-cut pages and breathed its musty smell. It filled him with a strange excitement, as if he'd caught a whiff of ancient, buried cities.
Joan London
#57. A man is known to his dog by the smell, to his tailor by the coat, to his friend by the smile; each of these know him, but how little or how much depends on the dignity of the intelligence. That which is truly and indeed characteristic of the man is known only to God.
John Ruskin
#58. When the smell of her perfume, something that reminded him of faint spicy blossoms and spring, wasn't wreathed in a cloud around him.
Maybe it was magic. Was she one of the creatures from the many Scottish tales his nurse had told him as a child?
Karen Ranney
#59. I was thinking - "
"That's what I smelled!"
I stared at him.
"You know, the smell of wheels burning as they try to turn over ... " He drifted up toward the ceiling and rolled his eyes. "Never mind. Carry on.
Jennifer L. Armentrout
#60. He drove the car back through the night to Paris. The hedges and orchards of Normandy flew past him. The moon hung oval and large in the misty sky. The ship was forgotten. Only the landscape remained. The landscape, the smell of hay and ripe apples, the silence and the deep peace of the inevitable
Erich Maria Remarque
#61. In those days, the smell of leather and blood had clung to him like perfume. Now it was perfume that clung to him like perfume,
George R R Martin
#62. The smell of blood ... it was on his breath.
What does he do? I think. Drink it? I imagine him sipping it from a teacup. Dipping a cookie into the stuff and pulling it out dripping red.
Suzanne Collins
#63. He possessed the power. He held it in his hand. A power stronger than the power of money or the power of terror or the power of death: the invincible power to command the love of mankind. There was only one thing that power could not do: it could not make him able to smell himself.
Patrick Suskind
#64. Now what was tiring had disappeared and only the beauty remained.
Saturday found him for the first time strolling alone through Zurich, breathing in the heady smell of his freedom. New adventures hid around each corner. The future was again a secret.
Milan Kundera
#65. Aristodemus, a friend of Antigonus, supposed to be a cook's son, advised him to moderate his gifts and expenses. "Thy words," said he, "Aristodemus, smell of the apron.
Plutarch
#66. He was smothered by dread. Fear. A horrible sense of being hunted.
And then one of the automaton lions turned its head toward him. The eyes shone red. Red like blood. Red like fire.
They could smell it on him, the illegal book. Or maybe just his fear
Rachel Caine
#67. She took the pills from him, placed them in her mouth and drank the entire bottle of water. Water: it has no taste, no smell, no color, and yet it is the most important thing in the world. Just like her at that moment.
Paulo Coelho
#68. He was a super shiny boy and I liked the shape of him. Under the blanket. In the shower. I liked his shadow on the street and his imprint on the sofa. I hated the smell of hair gel on his head, but I loved it on the pillow. I love the smell of losing someone.
Emma Forrest
#69. It was harder to ignore the smell, meat just starting to turn. And gas. The dead were quiet, very quiet in a bad way, but the sounds of escaping gas were all over. [He] was surrounded by belching and farting corpses who wanted to eat him. It would be funny if it wasn't so fucking horrible.
Mason James Cole
#70. From Shane's Point of View:
Jester talking to Shane:
"What's the matter? You afraid you'd bite your skinny little girlfriend?" Jester laughed. "She's already someone else's, you know. I can smell the bite on her. He's marked her."
Myrnin.
"Shut up," I said, and kicked him in the face.
Rachel Caine
#71. Fred's vacuum-rated armor protected him from the smell of viscera, but it reported it to him as a slight increase in atmospheric methane levels. The stench of death reduced to a data point.
James S.A. Corey
#72. The soft wool blend of his sweater felt itchy compared to his skin.
Even though we'd been together all night, I couldn't get over the
feel of him, his taste, that potent, delicious smell of his neck. I was
higher than a fan at a Bob Marley concert.
Ophelia London
#73. eyelashes. She smelled of ambergris, roses, library dust, decayed paper, minium and printing ink, oak gall ink, and strychnine, which was being used to poison the library mice. The smell had little in common with an aphrodisiac. So it was all the stranger that it worked on him. 'Don't
Andrzej Sapkowski
#74. I loved every part of him. The smell of his skin, the scar on his cheek, the feel of his fingers pressing into my back. The way he could tell what I was thinking just by looking at me.
Anna Carey
#75. The world around him grew silent; there was something in the air. The odor of dead meat came down on the wind, drifting through the trees. Soft and sour, the smell of distant death.
Jeff Shaara
#76. Jake went in, aware that he had, for the first time in three weeks, opened a door without hoping madly to find another world on the other side. A bell jingled overhead. The mild, spicy smell of old books hit him, and the smell was somehow like coming home.
Stephen King
#77. Increase Mather, President of Harvard University, in his treatise on Remarkable Providences, insists that the smell of herbs alarms the Devil and that medicine expels him. Such beliefs have probably even now not wholly disappeared from among us.
James Henry Breasted
#78. Standing in front of him I wipe his liquid from the corner of my mouth and stare deeply. I can see the panic in his eyes. I can smell his fear, deep, rich and growing, and for the first time tonight I'm actually aroused.
Dennis Sharpe
#79. A quick and dirty whatever-it-was in the stolen minutes in the middle of the day was one thing. The quiet crackle of the fire, smell of warm bread, the home she knew was so important to him - this was something else altogether.
Rebecca Brooks
#80. And I let the dog out, or I let him in, and we talk some. I let him know I like him, and he lets me know he likes me. He doesn't mind the smell of mustard gas and roses.
Kurt Vonnegut
#81. The idea that his wedding band was some kind of talisman nauseated him like the smell of attar.
Stephen R. Donaldson
#82. I can smell you, Ms. Lane," he said, even more softly. "The only blood on you is from your veins, not your womb."
My head whipped to the left and I stared at him. Ok, that was one of the more disturbing things he'd ever said to me.
Karen Marie Moning
#83. I nestled my face closer to his neck, wanting to smell his skin, lose myself in the scent and feel of him as we swayed slowly to the beat of music I couldn't hear because his voice was in my mind ... and it was the only sound I ever wanted to hear again.
S.L. Naeole
#84. Maybe over time I'll forget the feel and smell and sound of him, the same way I am starting to forget Mom, but I'll never be able to forget that he should've been here.
Tawni O'Dell
#85. Even when it wasn't visible, Dominic could smell the newly broken skin. It sent a wave of hunger through him, but he ignored it. Not tonight; tonight was for other pleasures.
Isabelle Rowan
#86. They would hit a man in the water, if they were hungry, even if the man had no smell of fish blood nor of fish slime on him.
"Ay," the old man said. "Galanos. Come on galanos.
Ernest Hemingway,
#87. When I lie this close to you, when I smell your scent, when I hear your voice, I know everything that matters."
She looked down the length of him.
"You are the male I want to mate with. That's who you are.
J.R. Ward
#88. Everywhere the grain stood ripe and the hot afternoon was full of the smell of the ripe wheat, like the smell of bread baking in an oven. The breath of the wheat and the sweet clover passed him like pleasant things in a dream.
Willa Cather
#89. The smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her skin seemed to have got inside him, or into the air all round him. She had become a physical necessity.
George Orwell
