A Quote by Nafessa Williams

I love really sweet, soft scents. — © Nafessa Williams
I love really sweet, soft scents.
Whatis the root of all these words? One thing: Love. But a love so deep and sweet it needed to express itself with scents, sounds, colors that never before existed.
Tuscany is so full of history and beauty - you meet wonders of art and architecture on almost every corner. But I love the region's homier aspects: the special sweetness of the tomatoes, the soft mozzarella, the heady scents of basil and garlic everywhere.
I have loved flowers that fade,Within whose magic tentsRich hues have marriage madeWith sweet unmemoried scents:A honeymoon delight,A joy of love at sight,That ages in an hourMy song be like a flower!
No grief so soft, no pain so sweet, as love's delicious melancholy.
You are sweet, O Love, dear Love,You are soft as the nesting dove.Come to my heart and bring it restAs the bird flies home to its welcome nest.
A little sun, a little rain, A soft wind blowing from the west, And woods and fields are sweet again, And warmth within the mountain's breast A little love, a little trust, A soft impulse, a sudden dream, And life as dry as desert dust, Is fresher than a mountain stream.
I remember taking great pride in making Brad Pitt laugh. I always had a soft spot for him. He's such a sweet, sweet man.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony
Soft you day, be velvet soft, My true love approaches, Look you bright, you dusty sun, Array your golden coaches. Soft you wind, be soft as silk My true love is speaking. Hold you birds, your silver throats, His golden voice I'm seeking. Come you death, in haste, do come My shroud of black be weaving, Quiet my heart, be deathly quiet, My true love is leaving.
Gone were but the Winter, Come were but the Spring, I would go to a covert Where the birds sing; Where in the whitethorn Singeth a thrush, And a robin sings In the holly-bush. Full of fresh scents Are the budding boughs Arching high over A cool green house: Full of sweet scents, And whispering air Which sayeth softly: We spread no snare; Here dwell in safety, Here dwell alone, With a clear stream And a mossy stone. Here the sun shineth Most shadily; Here is heard an echo Of the far sea, Though far off it be.
I like sweet scents like coconut and vanilla.
Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brere; Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough; Sweet is the eglantine, but stiketh nere; Sweet is the firbloome, but its braunches rough; Sweet is the cypress, but its rynd is tough; Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill; Sweet is the broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough; And sweet is moly, but his root is ill.
Provence off the beaten track offers silence, stillness, sweet scents, eagles, chestnuts, endless avenues shaded by plane trees, fabulous walking, cycle tracks and beaches to die for.
I don’t know. She was a sweet girl. As sweet as they come. I don’t know why I didn’t love her. It’s something you can’t really control.
I always wear ladies' scents. I like the smell of flowers and men's scents tend to smell like burnt photocopiers.
I know I have a gigantic sweet tooth. I love candy, I love ice cream, I love anything sweet.
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