Chanel No 5 Quotes

What do I wear in bed? Why, Chanel No. 5, of course

You smell like sweat and sex…and me. It’s hot. Eau de Cum kicks Chanel Number Five’s ass.

Now I had babies confuse before. John Green Dudley, first word out a that boy's mouth was Mama and he was looking straight at me. But then pretty soon he calling everybody including hisself Mama and calling his daddy Mama too... Nobody worry bout it. Course when he start playing dress-up in his sister's Jewel Taylor twirl skirts and wearing Chanel No. 5, we all get a little concern.

You smell like sweat and sex…and me. It’s hot. Eau de Cum kicks Chanel Number Five’s ass.” For a guy, there’s something primordial about a woman covered in your scent – it’s the most primitive way of staking your claim. Of showing every other peckerhead that a woman is very much taken. It’s animalistic, sure, but that doesn’t make it any less arousing.

When I think back those tides were like women with different scents and different demands. Low tide was fruity and cool. It took a while to get to her edge. Low tide held back. The onus was on you to go on over to her. High tide smelled of heat that built up. It was Chanel No. 5 to her drugstore opposite. She went after you in no uncertain terms.

People think that the word "class" involves the color black, wearing Chanel No. 5 and carrying a Louis Vuitton. The word "class" and "classy", to me, mean what happens when you are able to be thankful, able to give and be a true friend to anybody regardless of their background and where they come from. That's class. It's a beautiful wave that washes away faults and paints things in a graceful light. You can't always do this, though. Sometimes you just need to slap someone. Still, you can slap someone with a lot of poise and that makes all the difference.

She kisses the children goodnight, leaving lipstick on their foreheads and a trail of Chanel No.5.

The indigestible parts of giant squid, in particular their beaks, accumulate in sperm whales’ stomachs into the substance known as ambergris, which is used as a fixative in perfumes. The next time you spray on Chanel Number 5 (assuming you do), you may wish to reflect that you are dousing yourself in distillate of unseen sea monster.

Sweetly, albeit hoarsely and with a burr, the girl started singing something scarcely comprehensible, but, judging by the women's faces in the stalls, very seductive: "Guerlain, Chanel no 5, Mitsuko, Narcissus noir, evening dresses, cocktail dresses..

It pained me to think something so inane, but that morning, as she’d subjected me to an endless T-Swift playlist, I realized that Liz was a fucking Taylor Swift song. She was. Vibey and romantic, but with the uncanny ability to reach inside of you and grab your heart with her absolute specificity. Liz Buxbaum wasn’t just a redhead; no, she was a girl whose hair was the color of the late September maple leaves that fluttered on the home base tree in her front yard. And Liz Buxbaum didn’t just wear a sweater, for God’s sake. No, she wore an apple green cardigan that smelled like Chanel No.5 and the front seat of your car, where she’d left it for a week. She said it reminded her of the way the rain sounded on the roof the first time you kissed her.

but to a dog, the stench of a decaying rat probably smells like Chanel No. 5.

Mi compro una bottiglia di Chanel N. 5. Mi compro un braccialetto coi charms. Mi compro una grossa busta di salmone affumicato. Mi compro gli stivali col pelo dentro… per la prima volta in vita mia mi addormento sul 61, e scendo in via Mezzaluna, al capolinea. Torno indietro a piedi e mi chiedo se allora non sia soltanto il sonno a generare i sogni, ma anche i sogni a generare il sonno.

The next time you spray on Chanel No. 5 (assuming you do), you may wish to reflect that you are dousing yourself in distillate of unseen sea monster.

She had no time for anything humdrum, banal, or mundane - to the extent that the task of cleaning her desk at every night had to be done with a bottle of Perrier water and Chanel No. 5.

An astrologer told Coco Chanel that five was her lucky number. So she named her first perfume Chanel No. 5 and launched it on the fifth day of May (the fifth month). The rest, as they say, is history.

Towles burn. Bathroom inferno! Chanel No. 5, it burns. Oil paintings of racehorses and dead pheasants burn. The reproduction Oriental carpets burn. Evie's bad dried flower arrangements, they're these little tabletop infernos. Too cute! Evie's Katty Kathy doll, it melts, then it burns. Evie's collection of big carnival stuffed animals—Cootie, Poochie, Pam-Pam, Mr. Bunnits, Choochie, Poo Poo and Ringer—it's fun-fur holocaust. Too sweet. Too precious.

On June 5, 2018, the judge was recalled. I remembered a quote from him in the San Francisco Chronicle: Women are frustrated by how they are treated by society, how they are treated by the criminal justice system. That passion is genuine. It needs to be expressed. Expressed was the wrong word. We the victims are tired of expression, I expressed a lot in his courtroom. The word we need is: acknowledged, taken into account, taken seriously.

Life isn’t all roses and unicorn farts made of glitter and Chanel No. 5. There are as many downs as there are ups.

X" was a woman with whom I had worked at Vogue. Seductive clouds of cigarette smoke and Chanel No. 5 and imminent disaster had trailed her through the Condé Nast offices, which were then in the Graybar Building.

White noise, impersonal roar. Deadening incandescence of the boarding terminals. But even these soul-free, sealed-off places are drenched with meaning, spangled and thundering with it. Sky Mall. Portable stereo systems. Mirrored isles of Drambuie and Tanqueray and Chanel No. 5. I look at the blanked-out faces of the other passengers—hoisting their briefcases, their backpacks, shuffling to disembark—and I think of what Hobie said: beauty alters the grain of reality. And I keep thinking too of the more conventional wisdom: namely, that the pursuit of pure beauty is a trap, a fast track to bitterness and sorrow, that beauty has to be wedded to something more meaningful. Only what is that thing? Why am I made the way I am? Why do I care about all the wrong things, and nothing at all for the right ones? Or, to tip it another way: how can I see so clearly that everything I love or care about is illusion, and yet—for me, anyway—all that’s worth living for lies in that charm? A great sorrow, and one that I am only beginning to understand: we don’t get to choose our own hearts. We can’t make ourselves want what’s good for us or what’s good for other people. We don’t get to choose the people we are. Because—isn’t it drilled into us constantly, from childhood on, an unquestioned platitude in the culture—? From William Blake to Lady Gaga, from Rousseau to Rumi to Tosca to Mister Rogers, it’s a curiously uniform message, accepted from high to low: when in doubt, what to do? How do we know what’s right for us? Every shrink, every career counselor, every Disney princess knows the answer: “Be yourself.” “Follow your heart.

A breakthrough in chemical research led to the creation of aldehydes. Paul Vacher and André Fraysse employed them for Arpège, Ernest Beaux for Chanel No. 5. Aldehydes add a vivid, quick quality to top notes; variations can be powdery, fruity, green, citrusy, floral, or woody. Utterly magical with rose and jasmine absolute, adds sparkle and brilliance. —DB

I've always felt that cities have their own character, a personality shaped by their histories and the people that call them home. Barcelona is a city of whispers and secrets.

What an understatement to call aura reading fun! As if it weren’t fascinating enough to plunge into the auric effects of the Beatles, Chanel No. 5, and your favorite flavor of ice cream, imagine what happens when you can read auras of your family and friends. Auras reveal juicy stuff about what is really going on with people in areas like love and communication.

Once we have our details—our white-hot places of experience he calls them—we have to choose one and write about it. ‘Not in sentences but in bursts of feelings—phrases, words, don’t worry how they relate just get them out. You are vomiting here.’ I circle my mother’s bathroom and start writing about it—the greasy face lotion, the dry shampoo spray, the heavy razor, the amber bottle of Chanel No. 5—and all the things that became mine the day she left.

The Buried Bishop’s a gridlocked scrum, an all-you-can-eat of youth: ‘Stephen Hawking and the Dalai Lama, right; they posit a unified truth’; short denim skirts, Gap and Next shirts, Kurt Cobain cardigans, black Levi’s; ‘Did you see that oversexed pig by the loos, undressing me with his eyes?’; that song by the Pogues and Kirsty MacColl booms in my diaphragm and knees; ‘Like, my only charity shop bargains were headlice, scabies, and fleas’; a fug of hairspray, sweat and Lynx, Chanel No. 5, and smoke; well-tended teeth with zero fillings, revealed by the so-so joke — ‘Have you heard the news about Schrodinger’s Cat? It died today; wait — it didn’t, did, didn’t, did…’; high-volume discourse on who’s the best Bond … Sartre, Bart Simpson, Barthes’s myths; ‘Make mine a double’; George Michael’s stubble; ‘Like, music expired with the Smiths’; and futures all starry; fetal think-tankers, judges, and bankers…power and money, like Pooh Bear and honey, stick fast — I don’t knock it, it’s me; and speaking of loins, ‘Has anyone told you you look like Demi Moore from Ghost?’; roses are red and violets are blue, I’ve a surplus of butter and Ness is warm toast.

Anytime I look at A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime, my head is filled with the romantic moments Crew and I have shared. All of the things he’s done for me. All of the lipsticks that still take up most of the drawers in my vanity table. The pink Chanel bag I still carry to this day, though he’s purchased me others since

It’s going to be fine, Bennett,” she was saying, words delivered in a way I’m sure I was supposed to find comforting, but only resulted in pissing me off. When things went wrong you screamed at someone. You became the loudest and squeakiest wheel; you let everyone know that anything less than perfect was unacceptable. You slammed doors and fired people. You didn’t stand there in your little blue Chanel suit and pearls and tell the cyborg bride and clueless groom that it would be fine.

Further Reading Atwood, Kathryn. Women Heroes of World War II (Chicago Review Press, 2011). Copeland, Jack. Colossus: The Secrets of Bletchley Park’s Code-Breaking Computers (Oxford University Press, 2010). Cragon, Harvey. From Fish to Colossus: How the German Lorenz Cipher was Broken at Bletchley Park (Cragon Books, 2003). Edsel, Robert. The Monuments Men: Allied Heroes, Nazi Thieves, and the Greatest Treasure Hunt in History (Hachette Book Group, 2009). Eisner, Peter. The Freedom Line (William Morrow, 2004). Helm, Sarah. A Life in Secrets: The Story of Vera Atkins and the Lost Agents of SOE (Hachette UK Book Group, 2005). Hodges, Andrew. Alan Turing: The Enigma (Random House UK, 2014). Mazzeo, Tilar. The Hotel on Place Vendôme: Life, Death, and Betrayal at the Hotel Ritz in Paris (HarperCollins, 2015). Mulley, Clare. The Spy Who Loved: The Secrets and Lives of Christine Granville (St. Martin’s Press, 2012). O’Keefe, David. One Day in August: The Untold Story Behind Canada’s Tragedy at Dieppe (Knopf Canada, 2013). Pearson, Judith. The Wolves at the Door: The True Story of America’s Greatest Female Spy (Rowman & Littlefield, 2005). Ronald, Susan. Hitler’s Art Thief (St. Martin’s Press, 2015). Rosbottom, Ronald. When Paris Went Dark: The City of Light Under German Occupation 1940–1944 (Hachette Book Group, 2014). Sebba, Anne. Les Parisiennes: How the Women of Paris Lived, Loved, and Died Under Nazi Occupation (St. Martin’s Press, 2016). Stevenson, William. Spymistress: The Life of Vera Atkins, the Greatest Female Secret Agent of World War II (Arcade Publishing, 2007). Vaughan, Hal. Sleeping With the Enemy: Coco Chanel’s Secret War (Random House, Inc., 2011). Witherington Cornioley, Pearl; edited by Atwood, Kathryn. Code Name Pauline: Memoirs of a World War II Special Agent (Chicago Review Press, 2015). From the Combined Intelligence Objectives Subcommittee/Target Intelligence Committee (TICOM) Archives. NW32823—Demonstration of Kesselring’s “Fish Train” (TICOM/M-5, July 8, 1945).

We do not sell lipstick, we buy customers.

Oh, that reminds me,” Vanessa added, like it was nothing. “A great many of the guests on my side have to be gluten-free. I’m sure you’ve already made arrangements for that, but I thought perhaps I should mention it just in case you’re not prepared. You might as well make sure the entire menu and cake is gluten-free, just in case.” Rose didn’t dare look at her own reflection in the window just in case she saw steam flying out of her ears. She couldn’t believe Vanessa hadn’t mentioned her guest’s gluten allergies long before now. Julie and Andrew were going to kill Donovan’s mother...that is if Rose didn’t do it first. Of course, Vanessa didn’t seem to notice that anything was amiss as she announced, “Well, dear, let me know if you need help with anything. I’m sure I can make some calls. But now, I must leave for a coffee meeting with the board of the San Francisco Philharmonic.” Two air kisses later, one to both of Rose’s cheeks, and she was wafting away on a cloud of Chanel No. 5.

The woman matched the room. Pale pastel Chanel suit. Oscar de la Renta kitten heels. Diamond the size of a Krispy Kreme donut.

The writer encountered a Muslim woman once in a narrow street of a predominantly Hindu town, in the quarter inhabited by moneylenders. The feeling he had was that she was coming in search of a loan. She wore the burkha, that unhygienic head-to-toe covering that turns a woman into a walking symbol of inefficient civic refuse collection and leaves you without even an impression of her eyes behind the slits she watches the gay world through, tempted but not tempting; a garment in all probability inflaming to her passions but chilling to her expectations of having them satisfied. Pity her for the titillation she must suffer. After she had passed there was a smell of Chanel No. 5, which suggested that she needed money because she liked expensive things. Perhaps she had a rebellious spirit, or laboured under a confusion of ideas and intentions. On the other hand she may merely have been submissive to her husband, drenching herself for his private delight with a scent she did not realize was also one of public invitation – and passed that day through the street of the moneylenders only because it was a short cut to the mosque. It was a Friday, and it is written in the Koran: ‘Believers, when the call is made for prayer on Friday, hasten to the remembrance of Allah and leave off all business. That would be best for you, if you but knew it. Then, when the prayers are ended, disperse and go in quest of Allah’s bounty.’ Perhaps, when the service was over, it was her intention to return by the way she had come.

Which would you rather have––an unlimited supply of Chanel No. 5, or freedom?

I waited for her outside her house and saw her approaching in the aqua-blue dress I had gifted her on her last birthday. She obviously remembered my love for that colour on her and how I always told her that it complimented her skin beautifully. My heartbeat increased just a little as she sat in my car and the scent of her signature perfume- Chanel No 5- diffused in the air of my car. Her sleek-straight hair fell on her face. "Hi Neel. How have you been?" I thought about the first month of sleepless nights, crying, sulking and overthinking and said, "I've been okay.

Chanel chose the name Chanel No. 5 for her new fragrance for the simple reason that it was the fifth sample she had received from Beaux, and she was presenting her new dress collection in her salon on May

Chanel chose the name Chanel No. 5 for her new fragrance for the simple reason that it was the fifth sample she had received from Beaux, and she was presenting her new dress collection in her salon on May 5.

People make that mistake with Beatriz. Just because she’s strong, independent, fearless doesn’t mean she doesn’t hurt like the rest of us, that she isn’t vulnerable.

An exercise in illusion via allusion. Wear it and after a few hours you will find your daily life suffused by the same feeling of peace you get when you settle into an armchair after tidying your apartment from end to end. If you think of all the best Chanel fragrances as varieties of little black dress - sleek, dependable, perfectly proportioned - Bois des iles is the one in cashmere. I have worn it on and off for years, whenever I felt I needed extra insulation from the cold world. To my nose Chinatown ( Bond No. 9 ) smells like a corner of a small French grocery in summer, in the exact spot where the smell of floor wax meets that of ripe peaches. Lignin, the stuff that prevents all trees from adopting the weeping habit, is a polymer made up of units that are closely related to vanillin. When made into paper and stored for years, it breaks down and smells good. Which is how divine providence has arranged for secondhand bookstores to smell like good quality vanilla absolute, subliminally stoking a hunger for knowledge in all of us. Perfume is, among other things, the most portable form of intelligence. Oman was making perfumes when Europeans only bathed once a year on doctor's orders. Chanel No. 5 is a Brancusi. The beauty and fragrance industry has lied to women for so long, convincing us to fork over cash for crud in shiny packages, that at this point event pure quality has trouble getting taken seriously. Clever marketing can get us to buy something once, but rarely again. We don't wear Chanel No. 5 because Marilyn Monroe wore it, we wear it for the same reason that Marilyn did: because it''s gorgeous. Sycomore, Chanel. If putting it on does not make you shiver with pleasure, see a doctor. Aside from beautiful aircraft, nuclear power stations, food and wine, perfumery is France's biggest export, yet there is no perfume museum in Paris. The ability possessed by certain fragrances to briefly turn the most arid mind into a fairy garden, to make us lament the passing of loves and losses we know full well we never had, is a miracle specific to perfumery.

Come on, Joseph,’ interrupted Zhenya. ‘She smells of Chanel No. 5!’ Afterwards, Zhenya realized she had made a mistake:

Bolting upright in bed, Joshua still had the lingering smells of sulfur, shit, and Chanel No. 5 in his nostrils.

You know, Mom will probably have him potty trained by tomorrow,” she said. “Good.” I peered up at the front of Evelyn’s 1940s-era Simi Valley mansion. “I’m liking this better and better by the minute.” We made our way up the steps, and Evelyn opened the door before we knocked. I still couldn’t get used to seeing this lady smiling. But she did. Not at Kristen and me, of course, but she loved her grandson. “There’s my grandbaby!” she said with a flourish. She leaned in and gave Kristen and me an air-kiss and then took Oliver from me in a flurry of Chanel No. 5.

Coco announced that she would give free bottles of Chanel No. 5 perfume to the American GIs to take home to their wives and girlfriends

No. 5 Chanel. I returned to the floor and removed the stopper, inhaling top notes of bergamot, with a sultry middle of jasmine and orris root sliding into base notes of amber and vanilla. It was gorgeous, generous, set off by a series of synthetic, surreal scents, bright as searchlights, precise as expertly manicured fingernails tapping against a table.

俄國革命這個歷史事件，導致革命前的「凱薩琳大帝的花束」演變成「香奈兒五號」及「紅色莫斯科」。分叉的兩條線發展，展現在歐內斯特．博（巴黎）及奧古斯特．米歇爾（莫斯科）的傳記裡，也具體呈現在一家名為「香奈兒」的私人企業，與蘇聯國營托拉斯「特哲」不同的生產線上。兩者都是在烽火連天的艱困時代中，對美好的渴望，同時也象徵著與過往世界的決裂。