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“Roses and violets from summer gardens, sun-drenched Sicilian lemons squeezed of their juice and mingled with juniper from the frozen north. Saffron threads and gold leaf from the Indies waited to be turned into something magical. And contained deep within all of this was a smile that flooded him with warmth, a pair of blue eyes, and the scent of chocolate...”
― Laura Madeleine, The Confectioner's Tale

“At the door to the shop, a bell tinkled, and moments later they seemed to enter the very flowering of lavender.
The scent was all around them; it curled and diffused in the air with a sweet warmth and subtlety, then burst with a peppery, musky intensity. The blind girls moved into another room. There they arranged themselves expectantly around a long wooden table, Mme Musset welcomed them, and a cork was pulled with a squeaky pop.
"This is pure essence of lavender, grown on the Valensole plateau," said Madame. "It is in a glass bottle I am sending around to the right for you all to smell. Be patient, and you will get your turn."
Other scents followed: rose and mimosa and oil of almond. Now that they felt more relaxed, some of the other girls started being silly, pretending to sniff too hard and claiming the liquid leapt up at them. Marthe remained silent and composed, concentrating hard. Then came the various blends: the lavender and rosemary antiseptic, the orange and clove scent for the house in winter, the liqueur with the tang of juniper that made Marthe unexpectedly homesick for her family's farming hamlet over the hills to the west, where as a child she had been able to see brightness and colors and precise shapes of faces and hills and fruits and flowers.”
― Deborah Lawrenson, The Sea Garden

“She was horrified by the traces of monstrosity in everyday life. The things that we look at but don't see, whose true essences are unknown to us.”
― Agustina Bazterrica, Nineteen Claws and a Black Bird

“I have found essences to be among the most valuable tools that I have utilized for awakening and allowing transformation.”
― Marcey Shapiro, Freedom from Anxiety: A Holistic Approach to Emotional Well-Being

“A fresh, uplifting mélange of Italian bergamot, mandarin, and raspberry that comprised the opening accord filled her nostrils with the carefree scents of spring. Her imagination soared with memories. The gardens of Bellerose, picnic baskets bursting with summer fruits on sunny Mediterranean beaches, summers spent on the Riviera, yacht parties, and the casino in Monte Carlo. The plain little bottle held the essence of the happy life she had known.
She inhaled again, closed her eyes, and allowed her mind to wander, to visualize the images the aroma evoked. Excitement coursed through her veins. She imagined a glamorous, luxurious lifestyle of exotic locales, mysterious lovers, sandy beaches, glittering parties, elegant gowns, and precious jewels.
And amid it all, sumptuous bouquets of fabulous flowers, enchanting and romantic, intense aromas of pure, bridal white jasmine and sultry tuberose, and the heady, evocative aroma of rose. Seductive spices, clove with musk and patchouli, smoothed with sandalwood and vanilla, elegant and sensual, like a lover in the night.
And finally, she realized what was missing. A strong, smooth core, a warm amber blend that would provide a deep connection to the soul. Love.”
― Jan Moran, Scent of Triumph

“Perfumers owe a debt to the civet cat, the musk deer, the beaver, and the sperm whale. Their secretions are pervasive, repugnant, but in the company of flowers, erotic. To achieve their superb fixative qualities, modern chemistry replicates these ancient ingredients from the animal kingdom. -DB”
― Jan Moran, Scent of Triumph

“Human categorizations are based on how we represent things mentally, not on what ultimate physical properties they have. Hence, even if there were real essences in the world, they could not be allowed in theory.”
― peter gärdenfors, Conceptual Spaces: The Geometry of Thought

“Naked bodies do not nourish a soul thirsty for love and essence.”
― Daniel Gumiero

“I dug wild mushrooms out of a jungle in Gabon, plucked 'Vanilla pompona' orchids from Madagascar treetops, tracked down Sichuan hot pot pepper in a seedy back alley in Shanghai. I've sniffed test tubes filled with scents that are not of this earth. But I have never quite been struck the way I have been struck by your apple.”
― Jeffrey Stepakoff, The Orchard

“The fragrance started off bright and happy, fresh-cut grass and sunshine, iced hibiscus tea, the best of a Sunday afternoon. Lavender and rose released their sweetness into the air so serenely you knew there was not a weed within ten yards of them. The scents filtered out through the store, and as Victoria and I watched, the customers began putting down their phones, looking about with greater interest, smiling at one another.
"Well, you certainly made them friendly," Victoria said.
I just smiled.
The fragrance began to deepen. Vanilla, the clarion call of mothers in aprons and after-school cookies warm from the oven. The women's expressions softened.
Your life can be like this, the fragrance said. Your children will love you.
Then, slowly, lazily, in came the scent of jasmine.
Victoria tilted her head. "Hello, troublemaker," she said.
It floated out across the room, heavy and sensual, the essence of beautiful, younger women. Women who birthed children and wore bikinis within a month, or worse yet, never had children at all, their stomachs taut, their breasts ripe. Women who drew the wandering eyes of husbands.
Then, even as the customers began shifting away from each other with polite, nervous smiles, there came another scent, lurking inside the jasmine, where it always waited- a touch of indole. A trail that led you downward, into the dirt.
But not enough- the fragrance was still too sweet. It hovered in the store, off-kilter.
"Hmm," Victoria said, her eyebrows pulling together.
"Wait," I said.
The want of balance was like an ache in the air. The fragrance reached out, searching, begging for completion. It didn't want sweet. It didn't want nice.
And then, out of the skin, the sweat, the very heat of the women's thoughts, came the missing base note. Keen edged as a knife, it rose to meet the sweetness.
Jealousy.
As we watched, one of the women picked up a cashmere throw and clutched it to her chest. Another sat down on a leather couch, her arms spread out like a claim jumper. Mine.
"Brilliant," Victoria said, stifling a laugh. "Absolutely brilliant.”
― Erica Bauermeister, The Scent Keeper