Fragrance Lover Quotes

Like This If anyone asks you how the perfect satisfaction of all our sexual wanting will look, lift your face and say, Like this. When someone mentions the gracefulness of the nightsky, climb up on the roof and dance and say, Like this. If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is, or what "God’s fragrance" means, lean your head toward him or her. Keep your face there close. Like this. When someone quotes the old poetic image about clouds gradually uncovering the moon, slowly loosen knot by knot the strings of your robe. Like this. If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead, don’t try to explain the miracle. Kiss me on the lips. Like this. Like this. When someone asks what it means to "die for love," point here. If someone asks how tall I am, frown and measure with your fingers the space between the creases on your forehead. This tall. The soul sometimes leaves the body, the returns. When someone doesn’t believe that, walk back into my house. Like this. When lovers moan, they’re telling our story. Like this. I am a sky where spirits live. Stare into this deepening blue, while the breeze says a secret. Like this. When someone asks what there is to do, light the candle in his hand. Like this. How did Joseph’s scent come to Jacob? Huuuuu. How did Jacob’s sight return? Huuuu. A little wind cleans the eyes. Like this. When Shams comes back from Tabriz, he’ll put just his head around the edge of the door to surprise us Like this.

Without the wetness of your love, The fragrance of your water, Or the trickling sounds of Your voice, I shall always feel thirsty.

A Kite is a Victim A kite is a victim you are sure of. You love it because it pulls gentle enough to call you master, strong enough to call you fool; because it lives like a desperate trained falcon in the high sweet air, and you can always haul it down to tame it in your drawer. A kite is a fish you have already caught in a pool where no fish come, so you play him carefully and long, and hope he won't give up, or the wind die down. A kite is the last poem you've written so you give it to the wind, but you don't let it go until someone finds you something else to do. A kite is a contract of glory that must be made with the sun, so you make friends with the field the river and the wind, then you pray the whole cold night before, under the travelling cordless moon, to make you worthy and lyric and pure. Gift You tell me that silence is nearer to peace than poems but if for my gift I brought you silence (for I know silence) you would say This is not silence this is another poem and you would hand it back to me There are some men There are some men who should have mountains to bear their names through time Grave markers are not high enough or green and sons go far away to lose the fist their father’s hand will always seem I had a friend he lived and died in mighty silence and with dignity left no book son or lover to mourn. Nor is this a mourning song but only a naming of this mountain on which I walk fragrant, dark and softly white under the pale of mist I name this mountain after him. -Believe nothing of me Except that I felt your beauty more closely than my own. I did not see any cities burn, I heard no promises of endless night, I felt your beauty more closely than my own. Promise me that I will return.- -When you call me close to tell me your body is not beautiful I want to summon the eyes and hidden mouths of stone and light and water to testify against you.- Song I almost went to bed without remembering the four white violets I put in the button-hole of your green sweater and how i kissed you then and you kissed me shy as though I'd never been your lover -Reach into the vineyard of arteries for my heart. Eat the fruit of ignorance and share with me the mist and fragrance of dying.-

Within the mystery of life there is the infinite darkness of the night sky lit by distant orbs of fire, the cobbled skin of an orange that releases its fragrance to our touch, the unfathomable depths of the eyes of our lover. No creation story, no religious system can fully describe or explain this richness and depth. Mystery is so every-present that no one can know for certain what will happen one hour from now. “ It does not matter whether you have religion or are an agnostic believe in nothing, You can only appreciate (without knowing or understanding) the mysteries of life.

Between earth and heaven, this woman must be the most evil and the most hated person ever, yet between earth and heaven, she was also the softest, the gentlest.

In this world, those who have fallen in love cannot make clear judgements.

To her own heart, which was shaped exactly like a valentine, there came a winglike palpitation, a delicate exigency, and all the fragrance of all the flowery springtime love affairs that ever were seemed waiting for them in the whisky bottle. To mingle their pain their handshake had promised them, was to produce a separate entity, like a child that could shift for itself, and they scrambled hastily toward this profound and pastoral experience.

When you dance, sister, you feel in your heart the blessing of the Goddess, her peace, her kindness. But when you are with him, then the power of the Goddess is in your heart, crashing through you. The Goddess is no thing of stone. The Goddess is breath, desire, despair. She is the green of the brushing leaf, the baby's cry, the lovers bite, the fragrance of the rose. You feel the Goddess moving through you.

Let’s swear to the moon to never betray each other.” He spoke each word earnestly. She studied his solemn expression and replied, “I swear to the moon to never betray each other.

The cent you desire is hidden in the scent of a flower.

You deserve a sensitive and caring lover. Someone who loves you madly, passionately, and totally. Someone who misses you like he misses his own breaths. Someone who reads your eyes as easily as he reads a book. Someone who misses your fragrance like he misses his own shadow. Someone who is scared of touching you lest he might damage your fragile skin. Someone who protects you and loves you as the beautiful flower you are.

She was the Qin Goddess of Gui Le, He Xia’s maid, the former highest ranking Bei Mo army official and at the same time, the Duke of Zhen-Bei’s wife.

Sleep without the fragrance of her hair next to him was impossible.

She was a horse lover and she and Whitey kept a mean old paint, a fancy quarter horse/Arabian mix, a roan Appaloosa with one ghost eye named Spook, and a pony. So along with the whiskey and perfume and smoke, she often exuded faint undertones of hay, dust, and the fragrance of horse, which once you smell it you always miss it. Humans were meant to live with the horse.

Gera smiled in satisfaction. “The trick to wearing perfume correctly is to only apply enough that if someone else can smell it, they’d better be intimate with you. A fragrance should never linger without you in an area after you’ve left it. Rather it should be a subtle reminder that only stays on your pillow or clothes, and only when your lover’s face is buried in them.” That

The ideal lover of flowers is he who visits them in their native haunts, like Taoyuenming who sat before a broken bamboo fence in converse with the wild chrysanthemum, or Linwosing, losing himself amid mysterious fragrance as he wandered in the twilight among the plum-blossoms of the Western Lake. 'Tis said that Chowmushih slept in a boat so that his dreams might mingle with those of the lotus..

a different kind of fragrance comes from the gathering of lovers a different kind of drunkenness comes from those wise in love the knowledge you learned in school is different love is something else altogether

1:337-338 GREAT CHANGES IN ME I CANNOT DESCRIBE I told the local astrologer that the fact that he doesn't see something doesn't mean it doesn't exist. A lover may perceive a certain light in the beloved's face that another person can't. A healthy person tastes a variety of flavorings in food that a patient with a coated tongue cannot. To the sick everything tastes bitter. Great changes and shifts occur in me that I cannot describe, but they are very real. Ways open. A fragrance from the divine comes through. No one sees this, but it is the most profound event in my life. Friendship cannot be seen or measured, but the experience of living within it is beyond argument. Words like belief, righteousness, and faith can be used however a debater wants. With Hasan the silk-weaver recently I spoke of the power of the Islamic prophets. Then he used my words to support his free-thinking lineage. Soul comes here from the unseen to observe this world, the body, the night, and the sunlit morning landscape, saying, I have seen this; now show me your other properties, Lord of the universes (3:26).

There are no parks in the ghetto; barely any trees. She misses the smell of the refreshed earth, the flickering green light beneath overhanging foliage, the flight of birds over water. She misses the distinctive individual timbre of each of Warsaw’s church bells. She misses walking home at night through the fragrance of tree pollen and the laughter of lovers. Only books now enable her to experience many of the blessings of the natural world she loves but has never until now fully appreciated. She lives wholeheartedly inside every novel she reads.

Imagine that God or Supreme Power came before you in the form of a fragrance which is a mixture of all the fragrances of the universe. But your mind will only pick up fragrances you are familiar with and say, “I know the fragrance of God. It’s like fragrance of my child... my lover ... my parents... my childhood memories ...” The God is right before you but your mind is recognizing only small parts of Him. To experience Him fully, you have to rise above the level of mind, and then rise above the level of soul, and finally be the God or Paramatma.

In the silence of the ticking of the clock’s minute hand, I found you. In the echoes of the reverberations of time, I found you. In the tender silence of the long summer night, I found you. In the fragrance of the rose petals, I found you. In the orange of the sunset, I found you. In the blue of the morning sky, I found you. In the echoes of the mountains, I found you. In the green of the valleys, I found you. In the chaos of this world, I found you. In the turbulence of the oceans, I found you. In the shrill cries of the grasshopper at night, I found you. In the gossamer sublimity of the silken cobweb, I found you.

In less than an hour, Sophia had efficiently arranged and copied the notes in a neat hand that would delight the printer to no end. She was so quiet and economical in her movements that Ross would have forgotten she was there, except that her scent filtered through the air. It was a tantalizing distraction that he could not dismiss. Breathing deeply, he tried to identify the fragrance. He detected tea and vanilla, blended with the elixir of warm female skin. Stealing glances at her delicate profile, he was fascinated by the way the light moved over her hair. She had small ears, a sharply defined chin, a soft snippet of a nose, and eyelashes that cast spiky shadows on her cheeks.

Releasing an explosive breath, Ross went to the chair where Sophia had sat, his fingers coasting over its back and arms. Driven by primal urges, he hunted for any trace of warmth her hands might have left on the wood. He breathed deeply, seeking to absorb a lingering hint of her fragrance. Yes, he thought with purely masculine agitation, he had been celibate for too long.

To feel alive, I need your presence. To scent my soul, I need your fragrance. I'm strong enough just for pretense. But so easily, I can melt into your embrace. To keep my life warm, I need your heat. a unexplainable joy in my heart since you met. To intoxicate me, I need the wine of your eyes. You are a gorgeous angel far above the skies. It fills the thirst in my heart whenever you kiss. So delicious is the nectar of your lips. One in a million You are one extraordinary pretty. And I'm addicted to the miracle of your beauty.

One Whisper of the Beloved Lovers share a sacred decree – to seek the Beloved. They roll head over heels, rushing toward the Beautiful One like a torrent of water In truth, everyone is a shadow of the Beloved – Our seeking is His seeking, Our words are His words. At times we flow toward the Beloved like a dancing stream. At times we are still water held in His pitcher. At times we boil in a pot turning to vapor – that is the job of the Beloved. He breathes into my ear until my soul takes on His fragrance. He is the soul of my soul – How can I escape? But why would any soul in this world want to escape from the Beloved? He will melt your pride making you thin as a strand of hair, Yet do not trade, even for both worlds, One strand of His hair. We search for Him here and there while looking right at Him. Sitting by His side we ask, "O Beloved, where is the Beloved?" Enough with such questions! – Let silence take you to the core of life. All your talk is worthless When compared to one whisper of the Beloved.

Song" You, whom I do not tell that all night long I lie weeping, whose very being makes me feel wanting like a cradle. You, who do not tell me, that you lie awake thinking of me:-- what, if we carried all these longings within us without ever being overwhelmed by them, letting them pass? Look at these lovers, tormented by love, when first they begin confessing, how soon they lie! You make me feel alone. I try imagining: one moment it is you, then it's the soaring wind; a fragrance comes and goes but never lasts. Oh, within my arms I lost all whom I loved! Only you remain, always reborn again. For since I never held you, I hold you fast.

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.

Why can’t a night like that be longer? If Alectryon could put a foot wrong,101 why can’t the sun be compassionate enough to do the same? Still, now it is over and I want never to see her again. Once a girl has given away everything, she is weak, she has lost everything; for in the man innocence is a negative factor, while for the woman it is her whole worth. Now all resistance is impossible, and only when it is there is it beautiful to love; once it is gone, love is only weakness and habit. I do not wish to be reminded of my relation to her; she has lost her fragrance, and the time has gone when, for pain over her untrue lover, a girl is transformed into a heliotrope.102 I will not take leave of her; nothing disgusts me more than a woman’s tears and a woman’s prayers, which change everything yet are really of no consequence. I have loved her, but from now on she can no longer engage my soul. If I were a god I would do for her what Neptune did for a nymph: change her into a man. Nevertheless, it would really be worthwhile knowing whether one couldn’t poetize oneself out of a girl, whether one couldn’t make her so proud that she imagined it was she who had wearied of the relationship. It could become a quite interesting epilogue, which in its own right might be of psychological interest, and besides that, enrich one with many erotic observations.

I AM LOVE I am the fountain of peace, lake of tranquility, I am the lips of blooming youth, I am the wine of soul and rose of nature’s bosom, I am the glimpse of beloved through amorous eyes. I am the elation, the sacred shrine in the heart of An innocent child; The chalice of my love overflows with divine grace, I am the rose whom lover’s lips have touched. The dawn breaks with the echo of my heart song, And whispers in the twilight; I am the beating heart inside of you, The twinkling star in the night sky, the ardent desire in the swell of passion, I am the tremulous lips parted in delight, an expression of love’s rhapsody. I breathe fragrance into your heart’s essence, tearing away the veil Of your sorrowful sigh, I am the flute which plays music to your ears, I am the nature’s call, the echo of mountains, the wild dance of a swelling ocean. I am the blazing fire of love arousing your soul to an eternal call; I flow towards the beloved like a dancing stream; I am the sweetness of your soul, Who fondles the book of caressing memories, beckoning you to be lost in my heart call. I am the lost gem of love that your hungry soul has been searching for years; I am the loving wreath of moments of happiness, Your name, engraved on my heart shines as a rarest treasure; That sparkles, illuminates on my desolate soul. From thee I arise, and to Thee I surrender; You are the gushing spring of my ecstasy, As the wine of my life rests in the chalice of your heart, Your lips press it to mine, sipping a sap of it, I die to rebirth in that soul wine. Beyond all language, beyond all words, wherein lies the land Of enchanting silence; a paradise where lovers yearn to dissolve, And clasp the timeless love to their bare bosom.  

HE SAID: "Who's knocking at my door?" Said I: "Your humble servant!" Said He: "What business have you got?" Said I: "I came to greet You!" Said He: "How long are you to push?" Said I: "Until You'll call me!" Said He: "How long are you to boil?" Said I: "Till resurrection!" I claimed I was a lover true and I took may oaths That for the sake of love I lost my kingdom and my wealth! He said: "You make a claim - the judge needs witness for your cause!" Said I: "My witness is my tears, my proof my yellow face!" Said He: "The witness is corrupt, your eye is wet and ill!" Said I: "No, by Your eminence: My eye is sinless clear!" He said: "And what do you intend?" Said I: "Just faithful friendships!" Said He: "What do you want from me?" Said I: "Your grace abundant!" Said He: "Who travelled here with you?" Said I: "Your dream and phantom!" Said He: "And what led you to me?" Said I: "Your goblet's fragrance!" Said He: "What is most pleasant, say?" Said I: "The ruler's presence!" Said He: "What did you see there, friend?" Said I: "A hundred wonders!" Said He: "Why is it empty now?" Said I: "From fear of brigands!" Said He: "The brigand, who is that?" Said I: "IT is the blaming!" Said He: "And where is safety then?" Said: "In renunciation." Said He: "Renunciation? That's ... ?" Said I: "The path to safety!" Said He: "And where is danger, then?" Said I: "In Your love's quarters!" Said He: "And how do you fare there?" Said I: "Steadfast and happy." I tested you and tested you, but it availed to nothing - Who tests the one who was once tried, he will repent forever! Be silent! If I'd utter here the secrets fine he told me, You would go out all of yourself, no door nor roof could hold you

HEART OF TEA DEVOTION Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And, while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful ev ning in. WILLIAM COWPER Perhaps the idea of a tea party takes you back to childhood. Do you remember dressing up and putting on your best manners as you sipped pretend tea out of tiny cups and shared pretend delicacies with your friends, your parents, or your teddy bears? Were you lucky enough to know adults who cared enough to share tea parties with you? And are you lucky enough to have a little person with whom you could share a tea party today? Is there a little girl inside you who longs for a lovely time of childish imagination and "so big" manners? It could be that the mention of teatime brings quieter memories-cups of amber liquid sipped in peaceful solitude on a big porch, or friendly confidences shared over steaming cups. So many of my own special times of closeness-with my husband, my children, my friends-have begun with putting a kettle on to boil and pulling out a tea tray. But even if you don't care for tea-if you prefer coffee or cocoa or lemonade or ice water, or if you like chunky mugs better than gleaming silver or delicate china, or if you find the idea of traditional tea too formal and a bit intimidating-there's still room for you at the tea table, and I think you would love it there! I have shared tea with so many people-from business executives to book club ladies to five-year-old boys. And I have found that few can resist a tea party when it is served with the right spirit. You see, it's not tea itself that speaks to the soul with such a satisfying message-although I must confess that I adore the warmth and fragrance of a cup of Earl Grey or Red Zinger. And it's not the teacups themselves that bring such a message of beauty and serenity and friendship-although my teacups do bring much pleasure. It's not the tea, in other words, that makes teatime special, it's the spirit of the tea party. It's what happens when women or men or children make a place in their life for the

We found ourselves in a lovers’ arrangement common in cities, when you see each other after midnight, once a week or so, sometimes dinner if he felt up for a date. I wanted more, but he had just gotten free of a long relationship, and I’d never been in one. We dated other people. I gravitated to people who reminded me of him, quiet, reserved, people who moved with diligence and discipline in their art. Masculine, but soft. When I couldn’t bear our arrangement, I cut myself off. But I wanted to smell him. I traced his scent back to the source, the Brooklyn Bangladeshi-owned oil shop Madina on Atlantic Avenue, an institution. Named for one of the two holy cities in Islam, the word al-Madina simply means the city, and the shop’s visitors include Black and Muslim entrepreneurs, fragrance aficionados, folks who want to smell good for cheap, imams who sell the oils to the prison commissary, making perfumes available to inmates. I would purchase five-dollar roll-on bottles of oil to smell him in those periods we were off-again.

When I think of you I feel fragrance When I think of our conversations, I feel alive My days smile And my nights sparkle Last night When I crashed into My stupid, empty bed, I took off all your inhibitions From the realm of surrealism And I surrendered my soul To your soul!

All my memories still smell of you!

She wanted She wanted to win all battles, She wanted to possess all that delights and startles, And when she was supposed to fight her fight, She for some reason surrendered before fate’s might, She wanted to fall in love and be his forever, She wanted to ride the sprinting moments of joy that end never, And when she found him, she failed to express herself, She for some reason drew comparison between herself and himself, She wanted to travel far and wide, She wanted to reach there where there was no place to hide, And when it was time for her to rise above all and be exalted, She for some reason felt less vigorous and least excited, She wanted to feel his kiss, she wanted to make him hers, She wanted to be with him in life’s every season with no restrictions and no moral spars, And when it was time for her to hold him with her heart, She extended just her hands, and stretched her mind’s thoughts, with the missing love soaked part, She wanted to live in a world where she existed just with him, She felt this feeling deeply and it at all was not just a whim, And when he opened his world to her and asked her to tread into it, She felt her heart had turned into a bandit, She wanted her feelings to bloom like the summer’s brilliance, She wanted to swim in his love and fragrance, And when he presented her his heart and laid it at her feet, She felt what I call “the unfortunate lover’s defeat,” She wanted everything, if not everyone, she aspired for a lot, She wanted to find herself a role in life’s every story and a part in it's every plot, And when the universe granted her this wish, she hesitated to be split into so many versions, Because to love everything one needs endless reasons, So, she finally wanted to be just with him and find in him all her joy begetting reasons, She wanted in him to find her life’s all seasons, And when finally the moment arrived, he stood before her eyes, And since then a part of her every moment into his always open eyes dives, Now she wants nothing no more, she just wants to be like the sky, Where she can travel as far as imagination can take her, and feel his love before they die, And when she became the sky and rose really high, The man leapt with joy and touched the sky, and both felt the joy’s loudest sigh!

There was a curiously ferocious quality to their lovemaking, as if it were a competition to see which of them could elicit the greater response from the other. It was as though they were trying to scour their mark into each other, like lovers’ initials charred into the trunk of a tree, relic of a lost romance. Teasing, taunting, titillating, they grappled together long after the fire had burned down to embers and the night-blooming flowers on the lake had opened their petals to the night sky, perfuming the air with their too-sweet fragrance. Afterwards, Penelope lay awake, feigning the regular breath of sleep. Beside her, she could sense that Alex was doing the same.

most flowery, romantic, sickeningly sweet terms imaginable. No less a heavyweight than Augustine even waxed treacly when he wrote: “O Lord, how I love you! You pounded on my heart with your Word until I loved you. . . . But what do I love when I love you? Not beautiful bodies or the loveliness of the passing seasons, not the radiance of light around us that make our eyes leap with joy, not the sweet melodies of songs, not the fragrance of flowers or perfumes or spices, not cakes or honey, not the entangled limbs of lovers. These are not the things I love when I love God. And yet, I love a light and a voice and a fragrance and a food and an embrace when I love God, who is a light, a voice, a fragrance, a food, and an embrace to my innermost self. . . . This is what I love when I love God.

Muhammad is tasting continually the wine of the agreement he made with God before the creation of the universe, the wine of the question Am I not your Lord? and of the answer Yes! The seven sleepers sipped that and slept three hundred and nine years. The Egyptian women drank one cup and were lost in Joseph's beauty. Pharaoh's magicians inhaled this fragrance, and the gallows looked like lovers coming toward them. Jafar lost his hands and feet in battle, yet flew because he tasted this Yes. Yes.

Good brother, kill as many enemies as you can. We can compare who killed the most on the way to the afterlife.

The aroma of the room, flashback the romance, The other half of my bed still has your fragrance, All I could do is step down and hear your recorded voice call In which you stated your last words as Don’t let those tears fall

Love is the sweetness of life.” “Pray is gold, whereas love is a diamond.” “Love does not wear hatred and bias.” “Love is a fulfillment of life; without that, life is nothing.” Love cannot appear and become true love without respect, tolerance, empathy, sympathy, care, and sacrifice.” “One can love whoever and whenever one wants; however, expecting similar feelings from that whom one loves is a risk of self-hurting.” “Love speaks in your words, sights with your eyes, grows on your conduct, and finally resides in your heart, becoming your heartbeat.” “When your mind is rich in wisdom, and your heart is sensitive and filled with love, you are a person who can change the world.” “Love does not recognize the terms hide and seek. When it happens, it becomes visible without any fear or hesitation.” “Those who care for self-respect show real and true love, and they do not break the trust and certainty of their beloved. Love cannot stay where there is no self-respect.” “If you love someone, and you are also keeping the options, it is not fair to your lover, not even yourself. You are just an opportunist. True love knows no options.” “Love for humanity is the mother of every love; no other love can prevail over it.” “Etiquette, respect, and love embellish and beautify the character while also helping to reach and qualify for success in life.” “Love with motives does not have success and embraces shame and sorry.” “My religion is love, which I have learned from my religion.” “Beauty hits eyes, and love touches heartbeats.” “The billions of beautiful faces exist in the world, but I fell in love with one face.” “The silent love has more truth than the spoken one.” “Please pray for me. I am going to fall in love.” “I do not search for a true friend and true love. I practice becoming a true friend and giving true love.” “I can never feel again such love which I had felt for the first time in my youth.” “If there is no current, the lamp does not light up; similarly, if there is no passion, love does not become the heartbeat.” “Love with the heart validates purity and truth. Love with the mind may evidence diplomacy and tact.” “Real and pure love exists at the age of nine and ninety years; between that lies a risk. However, an exception may become a wonder.” “Love fragrances, and colors, the breath waves that inspire the heart language.” “Love bears two negative feelings; fear and jealousy, overcoming that beautify life; otherwise, these become self-hurting.” “Love is not just a remedy for sex frustration; it is a solemn life pledge to be together for all seasons and circumstances.” “How simple it is, how deep it is, and how true it is, within the two-L-that you are my Life and Love. Do we honestly make also perfumed that?” “Log in Love; log out Hatred and scan evil threats with the purity of thoughts: Life becomes secure and stays smooth and flowery.” “Anyone who indulges only in self-love remains devoid of true love.” "Your words can be constructive or destructive. Love is a positive energy that grows when it is filled up with sweet words and keeps love fresh and alive. If there are destructive words, love will go dry and finally die. "Love is a context of heartbeats; intimacy is its dictionary; use it carefully and properly; otherwise, typos can cause risks.

A Lover's Call  Where are you, my beloved? Do you hear my weeping From beyond the ocean? Do you understand my need? Do you know the greatness of my patience? Is there any spirit in the air capable of conveying To you the breath of this dying youth? Is there any Secret communication between angels that will carry to You my complaint? Where are you, my beautiful star? The obscurity of life Has cast me upon its bosom; sorrow has conquered me. Sail your smile into the air; it will reach and enliven me! Breathe your fragrance into the air; it will sustain me! Where are you, my beloved? Oh, how great is Love! And how little amI!

buu-e-gul naala-e-dil duud-e-charaaG-e-mahfil jo tirii bazm se niklaa so pareshaa.n niklaaThe fragrance of the rose, the crying notes of the heart, the smoke of the earthen lamp: everything and everybody who left from your (beloved’s) party got scattered everywhere. Even the poet/lover himself got no special treatment!

Even the most brave and powerful men tremble at the sight of their Beloved - So vulnerable from the essence her fragrance leaves in their heart. I remember You like a cryptic carving of ancient scriptures on the sandalwood With reverence, meaning and a scent. I dance like a wild stream between the palms of God - so that, My movement is free of thought, My love for you free from context, I mirror galaxies for you drunk of my own reflection, You are the silence in a drowning noise - like an island, And your silence becomes a voice of its own. Tonight I am Rumi, the poet of the poets Who spoke of the Beloved: Oh Beloved, Moon of the Moons! Your pale face dissolves in the daylight, Where should I find you in my wake? Light becomes a concealing veil for your sacredness. Night covers you in a different veil, like that pearl at the bottom of the ocean, that is my heart. So precious is thy refinement. You move with the tides, always leaving but a fragrance of devotion. I'm meeting you on the crossroads where breath becomes life - And like a breath, immersed and formless, together we are scattered and life is merely a passage, a doorway to our secret garden.

My Golden Earth (The Sonnet) O my golden earth, I am but your stupid lover. The flute of your dazzling fragrance, Makes my agonies disappear. Whenever your sky is cloudy, My heart drowns in drought. Whenever your oceans quiver, With tears my eyes get fraught. Whenever you giggle in prosperity, It pours honey into my ears. Whenever you shine with festivals, Light and love erase my historic fears. You are my home o my golden earth. All your children are my sisters and brothers.

The hallway felt cold and frigid, and smelled of old pizza. She walked into the empty living room, and was confronted with Marco's bed. The sheets were still rumpled, and she knew they'd smell of him. For one confused moment, she wanted to do nothing more than climb in, and wrap herself up in the fragrance of the man she loved.

Often, as right now, Jean Perdu sits in the farmhouse’s summer kitchen, eyes closed, plucking rosemary and lavender flowers, breathing in this most profoundly provincial fragrance, and writing his Great Encyclopedia of Small Emotions: A Guide for Booksellers, Lovers, and other Literary Pharmacists. He is making an entry under “K.” Kitchen solace—the feeling that a delicious meal is simmering on the kitchen stove, misting up the windows, and that at any moment your lover will sit down to dinner with you and, between mouthfuls, gaze happily into your eyes. (Also known as living.)

She took a deep breath. Then another. And another. The scent of the fresh-cut flowers invaded her nose, the sweetness swelling, taking over, replacing the air…until it was only fragrance going down into her lungs. Her throat seemed to close up, as if to fight the onslaught, and she pulled at her necklace. Tight…it was so tight on her neck. And heavy…like hands choking her…. She opened her mouth to breathe, but it didn’t help. Her lungs were clogged with the flower stench, coated by it…she was suffocating, drowning, though she was not in water… On loose legs, she walked to the door,

Perfume is to smells what eroticism is to sex: an aesthetic, cultural, emotional elaboration of the raw materials provided by nature. The ladies of the court, led by Marie-Antoinette, resorted to the only thing that could keep them one step ahead of the commoners, however wealthy they were: fashion. In fact, this is how fashion as we know it came into existence: the latest trend adopted by a happy few for a season before trickling down to the middle classes. Just a touch of the negligence etudiee that distinguishes chic Parisian women from their fiercely put-together New Yorker or Milanese counterparts. Perfume needs to be supported by image. You're not just doing it to smell good: you're perpetuating a ritual of erotic magic that's been scaring and enticing men in equal measure for millennia. Perfumes are our subconscious. They read us more revealingly than any other choice of adornment, perhaps because their very invisibility deludes us into thinking we can get away with the message they carry. These scents severed fragrance from its function as an extension of a female or male persona - the rugged guy, the innocent waif or the femme fatale - to turn it into a thing that was beautiful, interesting and evocative in and of itself. Perfume's advertising relies on the 3 aspiration S: stars, sex and seduction, with a side helping of dreams or exoticism. Descriptions, impressions, analogies, short stories, snippets or real-life testing, bits of history, parallels with music or literature. Connecting a scent with emotions, impressions, atmospheres, isn't that why we wear it? Isn't it all subjective? Just because you don't want it in your life doesn't make it bad. And it's not entirely impossible to consider perfumes beyond their "like/don't like" status. What intent does t set out to fulfill? How does it achieve its effects? How does it fit in with the history of the brand or its identity? How does it compare to the current season's offerings? Does it bring something new? The story told by the perfumer blends with the ones we tell ourselves about it; with our feelings, our moods, our references, our understanding of it. Once it is released from the bottle, it becomes a new entity. We make it ours: we are the performers of our perfume. Both lust and luxury are coupled in the same Latin word: luxuria is one of the 7 deadly sins. The age-old fear of female sexuality. The lure of beauty, set off by costly and deceitful adornments, could lead men to material and moral ruin but, more frighteningly, suck them into a vortex of erotic voracity. A man's desire waxes and wanes. But how can a woman, whose pleasure is never certain and whose receptive capacity is potentially infinite, ever be controlled?

lovers like rej and lena smile(while looming darkly a kindness of fragrance opens around them)and whisper their joy under entirely the coming quitenotimaginable silenceofsound

His apartment is not only beautiful, it is unusual. Some pieces of high-tech furniture are arranged in each room with very few decorative items, but the backlit glass panels covered in intricate patterns of trapped air bubbles create the illusion of movement and provide a sense of comfort. These panels – all completely different, but each beautiful in their own way – serve as internal walls that divide up a huge space into separate rooms. The otherworldly music, quiet and barely perceptible, suits this ‘apartment of the future’ perfectly, the relaxing background sounds adding the finishing touch. The external walls are all floor-to-ceiling windows covered in a translucent white cloth so delicate that the slightest breeze lifts them like sails, revealing an enormous terrace with a pool surrounded by plants. My nose picks up the subtle aroma of either citrus fruits or vanilla – probably also some super-advanced system to ensure a consistent fragrance.

That smells delicious, Miss Sydney... may I ask what it is?" "Marjoram sausage and potatoes. And green peas in cream." Ross's appetite kindled at the savory fragrance that wafted from the plate. Lately Sophia had taken a strong hand in the kitchen, showing the inept cook-maid how to prepare edible meals. She paid close attention to his likes and dislikes, observing that he preferred well-seasoned food and had an incurable sweet tooth. In the past several days Ross had succumbed to the temptation of crisp-crusted charlotte pudding mounded high with orange filling... plum cake rich with molasses and currants... sugared apples wedged between thick layers of dough.

But the true lover of rain… has a deep inner enjoyment of the rain, as rain, and his sense of its beauty drinks it in as thirstily as does the drinking earth. It refreshes and cools his heart and brain; he longs to go forth into the fields, to feel its steady stream, to scent its fragrance; to stand under some heavy-foliaged chestnut-tree, and hear the rushing music on the crowded leaves.

The indulgent mixture of fragrances beckoned me forward, drawing me into the lush forest of blooms, vines, and greens like the crook of a lover’s finger.

A Lover's Call XXVII Where are you, my beloved? Are you in that little Paradise, watering the flowers who look upon you As infants look upon the breast of their mothers? Or are you in your chamber where the shrine of Virtue has been placed in your honor, and upon Which you offer my heart and soul as sacrifice? Or amongst the books, seeking human knowledge, While you are replete with heavenly wisdom? Oh companion of my soul, where are you? Are you Praying in the temple? Or calling Nature in the Field, haven of your dreams? Are you in the huts of the poor, consoling the Broken-hearted with the sweetness of your soul, and Filling their hands with your bounty? You are God's spirit everywhere; You are stronger than the ages. Do you have memory of the day we met, when the halo of You spirit surrounded us, and the Angels of Love Floated about, singing the praise of the soul's deed? Do you recollect our sitting in the shade of the Branches, sheltering ourselves from Humanity, as the ribs Protect the divine secret of the heart from injury? Remember you the trails and forest we walked, with hands Joined, and our heads leaning against each other, as if We were hiding ourselves within ourselves? Recall you the hour I bade you farewell, And the Maritime kiss you placed on my lips? That kiss taught me that joining of lips in Love Reveals heavenly secrets which the tongue cannot utter! That kiss was introduction to a great sigh, Like the Almighty's breath that turned earth into man. That sigh led my way into the spiritual world, Announcing the glory of my soul; and there It shall perpetuate until again we meet. I remember when you kissed me and kissed me, With tears coursing your cheeks, and you said, "Earthly bodies must often separate for earthly purpose, And must live apart impelled by worldly intent. "But the spirit remains joined safely in the hands of Love, until death arrives and takes joined souls to God. "Go, my beloved; Love has chosen you her delegate; Over her, for she is Beauty who offers to her follower The cup of the sweetness of life. As for my own empty arms, your love shall remain my Comforting groom; your memory, my Eternal wedding." Where are you now, my other self? Are you awake in The silence of the night? Let the clean breeze convey To you my heart's every beat and affection. Are you fondling my face in your memory? That image Is no longer my own, for Sorrow has dropped his Shadow on my happy countenance of the past. Sobs have withered my eyes which reflected your beauty And dried my lips which you sweetened with kisses. Where are you, my beloved? Do you hear my weeping From beyond the ocean? Do you understand my need? Do you know the greatness of my patience? Is there any spirit in the air capable of conveying To you the breath of this dying youth? Is there any Secret communication between angels that will carry to You my complaint? Where are you, my beautiful star? The obscurity of life Has cast me upon its bosom; sorrow has conquered me. Sail your smile into the air; it will reach and enliven me! Breathe your fragrance into the air; it will sustain me! Where are you, me beloved? Oh, how great is Love! And how little am I!

Have you smelled plums? They have a dense fragrance that leaves a sense of urgency in the mouth.