“Bend close! You will smell the lily fragrance of love, the stench of lust, now odors as exquisite as the very spirit of violets, and now such nauseous repulsions as words cannot tell.”

“It may seem fanciful, but to me the violet is the very emblem of woman's love; it springs up in secret; it hides its perfume even when gathered; how timidly its deep blue leaves bend on their slight stem! The resemblance may be carried yet further — woman's love is but beautiful in its purity; let the hot breath of passion once sully it, and its beauty is departed — thus as the summer advances, the violet loses its fragrance; June comes, but its odours are fled — the heart too has its June; the flower may remain, but its fragrance is gone for ever.”

“I seem to smell the stench of appeasement in the air—the rather nauseating stench of appeasement.”

“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.”

“Now, as the Word of God is the Son of God, so the love of God is the Holy Spirit.”

“It's so nice to get flowers while you can still smell the fragrance.”

“I'd be a butterfly born in a bower,
Where roses and lilies and violets meet.”

“Can you smell his sweat? That peculiar goatish odor is trans-3-methyl-2 hexenoic acid. Remember it, it's the smell of schizophrenia.”

“She closed the book and put her cheek against it. There was still an odor of a library on it, of dust, leather, binding glue, and old paper, one book carrying the smell of hundreds.”

“You cannot fight unreason, and as these dead multitudes will tell you — are telling you right now — certitude is the enemy.”