A Quote by Sarah Schulman

The wind smelled clean, like clean magazines. It smelled like invisible ink. — © Sarah Schulman
The wind smelled clean, like clean magazines. It smelled like invisible ink.
The place smelled like Sam -- or, I guess, he smelled like the store. Like ink and old building and something more leafy than coffee but less interesting than weed. It was all very ... erudite. I felt surrounded by conversations I had no interest in participating in.
For a moment he could have sworn he smelled violets, which was very peculiar, since he had no idea what violets smelled like, except somehow he knew they smelled just like Lady Emma.
The place smelled of fairgrounds, of lazy crowds, of nights when you stayed out because you couldn't go to bed, and it smelled like New York, of its calm and brutal indifference.
The smell of apple pies didn't quite fill the house, but it was there, a thread under everything else. It was kind of hard to take Christophe seriously when he smelled like baked goods. I wondered if other djampjir smelled like Hostess Twinkies and sniggered to myself.
A tall blonde entered the room, wearing a yellow sash that marked her as advocate. Two men followed her, carrying papers. She was lean and long-legged, with a graceful neck and nice ankles, and William took a minute to watch her come down the aisle. She looked high-strung and difficult. Still, good legs. Mmm, smelled of mimosa, too. Expensive scent. Cerise smelled better, when clean.
When you chopped logs with the ax and they split open they smelled beautiful, like Christmas. But when you split someone's head open it smelled like abattoir and quite overpowered the scent of the wild lilacs you'd cut and brought into the house only this morning, which was already another life.
She smelled like herself, like the wind through a tree.
You come before me this morning with clean hands and clean collars. I want you to have clean tongues, clean manners, clean morals and clean characters.
I remember my childhood names for grasses and secret flowers. I remember where a toad may live and what time the birds awaken in the summer -- and what trees and seasons smelled like -- how people looked and walked and smelled even. The memory of odors is very rich.
Californians want to have clean air, clean water - not like the Trump Administration is trying to do with its rollback of environmental regulations, like the reversal of the Clean Power Plan.
He smelled cold water and cold intrepid green. Those early flowers smelled like cold water. Their fragrance was not the still perfume of high summer; it was the smell of cold, raw green.
He shifted over without comment, lifting the blankets, and I scrambled into the warm sheets beside him. He smelled like soap and sleep and bare skin. He smelled familiar. Not the deja vu familiar of Guy or Mel. Familiar like...the ache in your chest of homesickness, of longing for harbor after weeks of rough seas or craving a fire's warmth after snow--or wanting back something you should never have given away.
I'm a minimalist. I like things to look very clean, I like clean lines. I like everything to be tidy and have space.
I was inspired to see leaders from Paris, New York City, San Francisco and Vancouver, B.C. rolling up their sleeves to create clean and safe transportation systems; make homes and buildings efficient, comfortable and affordable; and ensure more of our energy comes from clean sources like wind and solar.
I think a portfolio standard should go beyond wind, solar and geothermal energy to include renewable energy like hydropower and clean alternatives such as coal gasification, clean coal, nuclear energy and, finally, credits for achieving new levels of efficiency and conservation.
I like fighting clean. I've always fought clean, and I want to fight clean people. I want to fight fair.
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