A Quote by Emilia Wickstead

Prada Infusion d'Iris perfume - my mother wears it, so it feels like home away from home. It's lovely to smell her scent at all times. — © Emilia Wickstead
Prada Infusion d'Iris perfume - my mother wears it, so it feels like home away from home. It's lovely to smell her scent at all times.
The sweet smell of success is no perfume for a woman. Say it's old-fashioned, say it's corny, but, as far as I can see, a girl who wears a 'business scent' is not attractive. A woman who flaunts her career as if it was a new hat is not beautiful.
England is my home. London is my home. New York feels like, if I have to spend a year living in an unfamiliar city, this is a pretty lovely one to spend a year in, but I will be going home at the end of it, certainly.
Home sweet home. No place like home. Take me home, country roads. Home is where the heart is. But my heart is here. So I must be home. Clare sighs, turns her head, and is quiet. Hi, honey. I'm home. I'm home.
My grandmother had a lilac bush at her home in Long Island. I always associate the scent of it with her and try to have lilacs in my home.
Children are keenly aware of every situation where mother figuratively wears the pants in the home, and they're scornful of her for it. By the same token, the same attitude on the part of their father commands respect, even If it may at times engender fear.
It's strange coming back to Northern Ireland, but it feels like a home away from home.
This perfume was not like any perfume known before. It was not a scent that made things smell better... it was completely new, capable of creating a whole world, a magical, rich world, and in an instant you forgot all the loathsomeness around you and felt so rich, so at ease, so free, so fine.
Initially, I was scared of living alone in a big city like Mumbai, which is nothing like Bangalore. I'm more comfortable now; it feels like a home away from home.
I could still smell her on my fur. It clung to me, a memory of another world. I was drunk with it, with the scent of her. I'd got too close. The smell of summer on her skin, the half-recalled cadence of her voice, the sensation of her fingers on my fur. Every bit of me sang with the memory of her closeness. Too close. I couldn't stay away.
I can always tell when my mother, an artist who grew up in Switzerland, starts to feel nostalgic for home. It is the smell of the crispy apple tarts, the ginger cookies, and the creamy muesli full of nuts and fresh berries. The scent alone delivers a rush of childhood memories for me.
The beloved of Allah are the perfume of Allah upon this world, but only the true, sincere believers have noses to smell them. They smell that beautiful perfume; they follow that smell. That perfume creates a yearning in their hearts for their Lord, and as a result the sincere believers increase their pace, efforts and devotions.
In the spring of 1988, I returned to New Orleans, and as soon as I smelled the air, I knew I was home. It was rich, almost sweet, like the scent of jasmine and roses around our old courtyard. I walked the streets, savoring that long lost perfume.
Then I smell the sweat on him, a clean musky scent that I'd bottle and wear as perfume if I could.
When I go home, the first thing I do is wash the dishes. It feels real and it feels like home and it's humbling, it's something you don't do when you're living in a hotel, everyone cleaning up after you.
When my mother died, we had the coffin at home. Like, old-school - you have the coffin at home so all the people can come and see the person. And her coffin was next to my room, so I used to go in and stand on a chair and look at her. You know, it's open coffin and stuff.
The best fragrance is the scent of water, the fragrance of dew and rain falling on plants. Water is the essential element, a source of life and energy. A perfume that, like a garment, moves to suit the woman, her skin. A perfume that embraces a woman.
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