Heady Quotes

“Close your eyes and turn your face into the wind.

Feel it sweep along your skin in an invisible ocean of exultation.

Suddenly, you know you are alive.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

“It is possible for a writer to make, or remake at least, for a reader, the primary pleasures of eating, or drinking, or looking on, or sex. Novels have their obligatory tour-de-force, the green-flecked gold omelette aux fines herbes, melting into buttery formlessness and tasting of summer, or the creamy human haunch, firm and warm, curved back to reveal a hot hollow, a crisping hair or two, the glimpsed sex. They do not habitually elaborate on the equally intense pleasure of reading. There are obvious reasons for this, the most obvious being the regressive nature of the pleasure, a mise-en-abîme even, where words draw attention to the power and delight of words, and so ad infinitum, thus making the imagination experience something papery and dry, narcissistic and yet disagreeably distanced, without the immediacy of sexual moisture or the scented garnet glow of a good burgundy. And yet, natures such as Roland's are at their most alert and heady when reading is violently yet steadily alive. (What an amazing word "heady" is, en passant, suggesting both acute sensuous alertness and its opposite, the pleasure of the brain as opposed to the viscera—though each is implicated in the other, as we know very well, with both, when they are working.)”
― A.S. Byatt, Possession

“Inside, on a bed of black velvet, lay an exquisite perfume bottle designed from rose-colored glass caged in a silver overlay that twined about the glass like living vines. In the very center of the oval shaped bottle, the silver was formed into the image of a lily in full bloom.
It was likely the most precious and expensive gift Lily had ever been given. She ran her fingertips over the delicate silver work before lifting the bottle from its velvet bed to allow the candlelight to shine through the rose-colored glass.
She noticed then a folded slip of paper still in the box. Setting the perfume bottle in the valley of her lap, she lifted the paper and broke the tiny wax seal.
In his precise, slanted script, Lord Harte had written:


I was unforgivably remiss in not having a gift for you the other night. I chose the elements for this blend myself. It made me think of you.


Lily brushed her thumb over the ink before setting the note back into the box. Then she shifted the bottle and removed the glass stopper. The scent wafting from the bottle was light, but heady. She noticed first the rich notes of clove and honey before her senses were claimed by the smooth, velvety scent of jasmine. Lily closed her eyes, allowing the aromatic infusion to settle into her awareness. There was another element hidden deep within the perfume. A layer of earthiness that warmed her blood. Sandalwood.
Lily was enthralled. It was a complex and lovely scent. Floral and exotic, light and dark. Impossibly sensual.
And it made him think of her.
Something deep and fundamental spread through her core, and she understood why young ladies were warned so often not to accept gifts from gentlemen. It was a personal and intimate thing to acknowledge how he had wanted her to have something he chose himself.”
― Amy Sandas, The Untouchable Earl

“I call your head a bad neighborhood because your head is full of a lot of babbling, conflicting information; most of it not yours, and most of it really bad.”
― Sonia Choquette

“The studio was filled with candles. Some Escoffier had brought earlier for their luncheon- they were made from beeswax and filled the air with a sweet caramel scent. The rest were Sarah's. There were exotics such as blood orange oil, frankincense and myrrh. The flowers he had picked- roses, peonies and a spray of lilies- opened into full blossom under the heat of so many flames and joined the heady mix.
Like dozens of tiny flickering stars, the candles and their scents made the dark night seem even darker, made the cream of her skin seem incandescent.”
― N.M. Kelby, White Truffles in Winter

“You gotta learn to trust your spirit. But you can't trust your spirit to drive the car if you have little practice. You gotta practice on the little things before you get into the big things. [...] Play games like which elevator is gonna come [first] before you [ask your intuition big life-changing questions like]: "Should I pack up and leave?" Get a little practice going so you know what it feels like to get in the flow of the vibe. Have little baby steps. Have little tiny games.”
― Sonia Choquette

“The scent of weakness is headier than blood.”
― Holly Black, The Stolen Heir

“Fear and desperation were a heady mix, giving one strength one normally wouldn't have.”
― Jennifer L. Armentrout, Fall of Ruin and Wrath