Notes Quotes

“Every perfume is made of top, middle, and base notes. Top notes are light, middle notes last longer, base notes last longest. A good perfume has all three, but they have to be in the proper proportions."
The sentences washed over me in a wave of technicalities, but I could feel what she was talking about. It had happened with every scent-paper I'd smelled, the fragrance shifting, telling a story that deepened even as it disappeared. Even nature was that way, if you thought about it- the bright green of the trees giving way to the dark and complicated dirt beneath, the ocean holding the scent of death under all that life.”
― Erica Bauermeister, The Scent Keeper

“The missing element couldn't be in the top notes. I figured that out quickly enough. Top notes were the ones that caught your attention, the glittering invitations that led you deeper into a fragrance.
It couldn't be a middle note, either- those warm, round things, full and loving. Taking them out would induce the soft purple of wanting, but that was still too passive. Need lived in base notes. It was the difference between appetite and craving, a bruised heart and a broken one. Base notes were just that, base- subterranean and simmering, dirt and blood, grief and desire and memory.”
― Erica Bauermeister, The Scent Keeper

“This chapter portrays United States politicians in their natural habitat. Reader discretion is advised. No claims are made that the portrayal of any named Senators is accurate; any similarity with actual Senators, sitting or former, is purely coincidental... not to mention really weird.”
― TimeCloneMike, Ebott's Wake

“I took in that half grin, the chest I might have suggested I'd lick and had avoided looking at for the past four days, and halted a healthy distance away. 'One would think a High Lord would have more important things to do than pass notes back and forth at night.'

'I do have more important things to do,' he purred. 'But I find myself unable to resist the temptation. The same way you can't resist watching me whenever we're out. So territorial.'

My mouth went a bit dry. But- flirting with him, fighting with him... It was so easy. Fun.

Maybe I deserved both of those things.

So I closed the distance between us, smoothly stepped past him, and said, 'You haven't been able to keep away from me since Calanmai, it seems.'

Something rippled in his eyes that I couldn't place, but he flicked my nose- hard enough that I hissed and batted his hand away.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“Too much bergamot in this one, too tart; no depth in this one; bring forward the orange blossom. Measuring out drops from several vials, she blended another variation, leaning heavily on her keen intuition. Inhaling, she let her mind wander, visualizing the aromatic impression. She was on the verge of discovery. An ethereal freshness with subtle spiciness, like the voluptuous scent of orange blossoms on a sunny spring morning. The hair on her arms bristled with anticipation.
She inhaled again, going farther, detecting the bouquet of jasmine absolute and rose attar, rich and silky, entwined with a spicy note of carnation, adding verve and vitality, robust brilliance. It needs a splash of complexity here, a sprig of basil there, an accent of clove. Images of lovers danced in her mind, a soaring sonata thrilled in her soul.
A vision intruded, no, a memory- she was dancing with Jon, resting her head on his shoulder, a salty hint of ocean, breathing in his scent, intoxicated with the musky, virile smell of his skin...
Another breath and she dragged her thoughts back, delving deeper into the essence. The mystery of amber to balance the soul; the silky smoothness of sandalwood; the delicious lure of vanilla, like a lover's midnight embrace. An ache grew within her at the core of her being. And in her mind's eye, veiled visions of a moonlit night, a couple dancing barefoot on the beach, swirling silks of scarlet and gold, the sultry caress of a whisper, so vivid she trailed her fingers along the nape of her neck, remembering... Seductive, sensual, the essence of amour.”
― Jan Moran, Scent of Triumph

“For me, reading was never an antisocial activity. It was deeply social. It was the most profound kind of socialising there was. A deep connection to the imagination of another human being. A way to connect without the many filters society normally demands.”
― Mark Haig

“It was filled with a dark paste, rather than liquid. I unscrewed the cap. The smell rolled toward me, and I reared back. I could almost hear growling, the pop of a bone socket.
"Civet," Claudia said, unfazed. "It takes a strong stomach to smell an animalic base note straight, don't you think? But a drop or two, down there in the bottom of a perfume? It sends that other message. Death and sex- that's what perfume's all about. You'll understand when you're older."
I stared back at her. I knew about death. I knew about sex. I didn't need her to tell me.
She held out another bottle, her expression bland. "Jasmine."
I was cautious this time, barely sniffing the contents, but the smell was a relief- sweet, white, and creamy, almost euphoric. I felt as if I were floating in it.
Just as I was about to put the bottle down, though, I caught a whiff of something else in the background, something narcotic and sticky. I inhaled more deeply, trying to pin it down.
"You like it," Claudia said. For the first time, she seemed pleased with me. "Do you know what that is, that note you're searching for?"
I shook my head. It was right there, but in that cool, blank room, I couldn't quite name it.
"It's shit," Claudia said. She smiled, slow and lazy. "Technically, the molecule's called indole, but a rose by any other name...”
― Erica Bauermeister, The Scent Keeper

“The road to hell is very likely paved with my notes for stories and books and articles.”
― Shirley Jackson, The Letters of Shirley Jackson

“Once you learn to listen and hear the notes clearly, then you will see the rainbow.”
― Todd Crawshaw, Portrait of a Rainbow as a Young Man:

“She watched as he put a few ice cubes in a heavy glass, then expertly curled a strip of grapefruit rind from one of the fruits in a bowl on the bar top. "This must be a favorite," she commented, nodding at the supply of grapefruit nestled in the bowl along with the usual lemons and limes.
He poured a generous measure from the black bottle and handed it to her with a cocktail napkin. "See for yourself."
Gemma wasn't in the habit of drinking gin neat, so she sniffed, then took a tentative sip. The flavors exploded in her mouth- coriander and juniper and lime and... grapefruit. "Oh, wow," she said, when her eyes stopped watering. "That is amazing. I'm converted.”
― Deborah Crombie, A Bitter Feast

“Perhaps a tuberose, she thought. Very pervasive, but not headachy. Her fingers lingered for a moment over her bottle of Fracas. She adored the classic punchy floral, but it was one of her mother's favorites, so not conducive to a good night's sleep either. Not after that phone call earlier.
Maybe something woody? The black tea, leather and tobacco in Atelier Cologne's Oolang Infini would be deep enough to drown out Digger's pungent expulsion, yet subtle enough to sleep on. But no, the guaiac wood in it reminded her too much of old-fashioned coal-tar soap, which was David's smell.”
― Maggie Alderson, The Scent of You

“I could smell her perfume, sultry and deep, too loud for such a small space.
"Poison," Victoria said, shooting me a knowing smile.
"What?" Fisher said, turning.
"It's a fragrance, circa 1985," she explained. "It got completely cheapened later, but the vintage stuff is still striking." She paused, sniffing lightly, ticking off scents on her fingers. "Plum, coriander, and opoponax."
"What?"
"It's a myrrh.”
― Erica Bauermeister, The Scent Keeper

“I like to leave little notes, around as I have traveled. It's like a semi-permanent graffiti for the soul. You know, some words or thoughts for a person's commute home, or the waitress that has been picking up people's sloppy plates all day, maybe even a mom watching her kids play in the park. You never know what is on a person's mind...maybe dread, or hate, or sorrow, or even nothing. I only hope some little thing makes them feel a bit better.”
― Owen D. Hill

“The best way you can contribute to a better future for humanity is to leave notes for who is coming next.”
― Laine Alcantara

“If it moves but shouldn’t: Duct tape. If it doesn’t move but should: WD-40. These two items cover all of your needs. Everything else in science is secondary.”
― Andy Weir

“And the next day? Nothing in my bag. The note was gone.
Maybe it didn’t seem like a big deal to you, Zach. But now, I hope you understand. My world was collapsing, I needed those notes. I needed any hope those notes might have offered.
And you? You took that hope away. You decided I didn’t deserve to have it.”
― Jay Asher, Thirteen Reasons Why

“Notes give me keys of expression.”
― Anthony T. Hincks

“È utile (e inutile allo stesso tempo) ripetere che luoghi e nomi sono inventati di ràdica. A chi potrebbe lamentare qualche coincidenza, ricordo che la vita stessa (assai superiore, in fatto d'invenzioni, alla fantasia) non è che una pura coincidenza.”
― Andrea Camilleri, Un mese con Montalbano

“Oakmoss, patchouli, bergamot, labdanum, in the balance you constantly shift and nuance like a conductor, but dancing on top of that tonka, a hint of leather and a cheeky reference to Miss Dior, with some carnation. I think there will be ambergris and sandalwood in the dry-down, and I can't wait to see how it smells in the middle of the night.”
― Maggie Alderson, The Scent of You

“The fragrance started off bright and happy, fresh-cut grass and sunshine, iced hibiscus tea, the best of a Sunday afternoon. Lavender and rose released their sweetness into the air so serenely you knew there was not a weed within ten yards of them. The scents filtered out through the store, and as Victoria and I watched, the customers began putting down their phones, looking about with greater interest, smiling at one another.
"Well, you certainly made them friendly," Victoria said.
I just smiled.
The fragrance began to deepen. Vanilla, the clarion call of mothers in aprons and after-school cookies warm from the oven. The women's expressions softened.
Your life can be like this, the fragrance said. Your children will love you.
Then, slowly, lazily, in came the scent of jasmine.
Victoria tilted her head. "Hello, troublemaker," she said.
It floated out across the room, heavy and sensual, the essence of beautiful, younger women. Women who birthed children and wore bikinis within a month, or worse yet, never had children at all, their stomachs taut, their breasts ripe. Women who drew the wandering eyes of husbands.
Then, even as the customers began shifting away from each other with polite, nervous smiles, there came another scent, lurking inside the jasmine, where it always waited- a touch of indole. A trail that led you downward, into the dirt.
But not enough- the fragrance was still too sweet. It hovered in the store, off-kilter.
"Hmm," Victoria said, her eyebrows pulling together.
"Wait," I said.
The want of balance was like an ache in the air. The fragrance reached out, searching, begging for completion. It didn't want sweet. It didn't want nice.
And then, out of the skin, the sweat, the very heat of the women's thoughts, came the missing base note. Keen edged as a knife, it rose to meet the sweetness.
Jealousy.
As we watched, one of the women picked up a cashmere throw and clutched it to her chest. Another sat down on a leather couch, her arms spread out like a claim jumper. Mine.
"Brilliant," Victoria said, stifling a laugh. "Absolutely brilliant.”
― Erica Bauermeister, The Scent Keeper

“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.”
― Erica Bauermeister, The Scent Keeper

“A good barbecue sauce should be as complex as the bouquet of a fine wine. It should have notes of sweetness, acidity, and a hint of pepperiness.”
― Liza Palmer, Nowhere But Home

“If there should ever come another time, another place; I shall never allow the things of that which I love to become removed, tucked away, forgotten or replaced.”
― Savannah Storm, Notes on Background

“Words and images drink the same wine.
There is no purity to protect.”
― Marlene Dumas, Sweet Nothings: Notes And Texts

“There is in fact coming and going, bending and breaking. One single bolt or screw holds the blades of a scissors together, into one tool that can cut paper or leather or steel or meat. If you take that screw or break that bolt, the scissors become two things. Two knives. Eyes can cut, too, back and forth. Eyes can turn outward or inward.”
― Peter Rock, Klickitat

“Some books recognize good things take time, and that there's a time for all things.”
― Grafaristw

“Two tips for best memory; first, make a note; second one, I forgot.”
― Vikrmn: CA Vikram Verma, Slate

“Only what comes simple is genuine and can’t be taken away from you.”
― Lenfantvivant

“If you have one minute left to live, you would not care about 99.99% you hold on to, that is the way to go.”
― Lenfantvivant

“A job is never going to serve you financial stability or freedom, nor compensate adequately for your given intelligence.”
― Lenfantvivant