A Quote by Rick Riordan

Her perfume was a mixture of roses and tear gas. — © Rick Riordan
Her perfume was a mixture of roses and tear gas.
People have a good reason to be afraid of tear gas, considering it's a banned agent of war under the 1993 Chemical Weapons Convention. Here's the catch - there's a clause in the treaty that includes an exception for domestic use. Yes, it's illegal for the U.S. military to use tear gas against ISIS, but cool to use against American citizens.
I was - the last protest I was at was in Genoa, where I got tear gassed, and I hate tear gas, and I hate being in crowds.
As for her perfume, it was the kind you only noticed after she'd left a room, not while she was still in it. Even then you didn't realize it was perfume, you only wondered what had made you think of her just then.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks.
I bought Jayne Mansfield's mansion in L.A. after her death. I had met her in England and remembered her perfume. When I moved in, I could smell her, and I saw her apparition.
Strew on her roses, roses, And never a spray of yew! In quiet she reposes; Ah, would that I did too!
Can anyone remember love? It's like trying to summon up the smell of roses in a cellar. You might see a rose, but never the perfume.
I have such a great thing I want to do with Lady Macbeth - make her one of the witches - and I have this whole thing where she's very light and dressed in pink and dancing Gaelic dances and throwing roses, but then when her husband's coming home, she does incantations and pulls her hair back, puts on a black leather trenchcoat. I mean, I could tear it up if somebody would give me the chance! But do you think someone would ever let me do Lady Macbeth? I doubt it. But I'm going to keep talking about it.
Heap not on this mound roses that she loved so well; why bewilder her with roses that she cannot see or smell.
Sweeter than the perfume of roses is a reputation for a kind, charitable, unselfish nature; a ready disposition to do to others any good turn in your power.
I can still smell the tear gas in the Hilton Hotel.
I'm not a hero. The Hongkongers who confronted tear gas in the streets are the heroes.
The nation wept tears of remorse for their leader: the tear-gas accomplished what was expected.
In my mind, I gave the woman gifts. I gave her a candle stub. I gave her a box of wooden kitchen matches. I gave her a cake of Lifebuoy soap. I gave her a ceilingful of glow-in-the-dark planets. I gave her a bald baby doll. I gave her a ripe fig, sweet as new wood, and a milkdrop from its stem. I gave her a peppermint puff. I gave her a bouquet of four roses. I gave her fat earthworms for her grave. I gave her a fish from Roebuck Lake, a vial of my sweat for it to swim in.
A black cat among roses, phlox, lilac-misted under a quarter moon, the sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock. The garden is very still. It is dazed with moonlight, contented with perfume.
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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