A Quote by W. Somerset Maugham

Beauty is an ecstasy; it is as simple as hunger. There is really nothing to be said about it. It is like the perfume of a rose: you can smell it and that is all. — © W. Somerset Maugham
Beauty is an ecstasy; it is as simple as hunger. There is really nothing to be said about it. It is like the perfume of a rose: you can smell it and that is all.
Beauty is an ecstasy; it is as simple as hunger.
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.
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.
When you smell our candles burning, what does it make you think of, my child?" Winterfell, she might have said. I smell snow and smoke and pine needles. I smell the stables. I smell Hodor laughing, and Jon and Robb battling in the yard, and Sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. I smell the crypts where the stone kings sit. I smell hot bread baking. I smell the godswood. I smell my wolf. I smell her fur, almost as if she were still beside me. "I don't smell anything," she said.
What can be said about chronic hunger. Perhaps that there's a hunger that can make you sick with hunger. That it comes in addition to the hunger you already feel. That there is a hunger which is always new, which grows insatiably, which pounces on the never-ending old hunger that already took such effort to tame. How can you face the world if all you can say about yourself is that you're hungry.
I hope I never smell the smell of apples again!" said Fili. "My tub was full of ut. To smell apples everlastingly when you can scarcely move and are cold and sick with hunger is maddening. I could eat anything in the wide world now for hours on end - but not an apple!
Growing up I never had a perfume. I was like oh, one day when I'm grownup and have money I'm going to wear perfume. I had one perfume and I would save it for really, really, really special occasions. Which meant I never actually wore it. So now it's one of those things like, I can wear perfume everyday. I can afford to buy another one, I'm really lucky that I can. Now when I have nice stuff I don't save it anymore, I try to use it.
Before every show, I have to put perfume on. I know the crowd's not necessarily going to smell me, but when I smell good, I feel like I can dominate the room.
I don't always like to wear perfume - I really like body smells, that's the French in me - but there's something about putting perfume on before you go out that has intention.
The fact that perfume is so close to emotion, that's why I really love it. It's such a good connection between people. When you fall in love with somebody, smell is very important. It could be your memory of the person - it's touching. And it's also playful, because sometimes you choose a different perfume every day depending on your mood. I like to help with that. I like to give a little joy to people.
I don't wear a lot of perfumey-perfumes because I think a lot of them smell like you're wearing perfume. And I don't want to smell like that.
You definitely need to have red lipstick no matter what. You can have a great outfit, but it will always give you that extra little pop. I also love perfume. It doesn't even matter what the perfume is. I like to smell sweet.
It had not seemed to matter that Rose was only eight years old. "More than eight," said Rose. "Nearly nine." "Darling Rose, even almost nearly nine-year-old's don't fall in love," said forgetful Caddy. Caddy tried very hard to comfort Rose when Tom had left. It was not an easy job. It was like trying to comfort a small, unhappy tiger. "Who said anything about falling in love?" growled Rose crossly. "Falling! Falling is by accident! I didn't fall in anything!" "Oh. Right. Sorry, Posy Rose." "And I am definitely not in love!
I grew up in the East Village with a lot of old people in my building, and I'm not sure if they lost their sense of smell over the years, but they always seemed to smell like they poured a bottle of perfume on themselves. I never want to become that person.
A good friend and a bad friend are like a perfume-seller and a blacksmith: The perfume-seller might give you some perfume as a gift, or you might buy some from him, or at least you might smell its fragrance. As for the blacksmith, he might singe your clothes, and at the very least you will breathe in the fumes of the furnace.
Anyone who hasn't experienced the ecstasy of betrayal knows nothing about ecstasy at all.
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