Fragrance Quote for April 5th, 2012-Tuscan feasts and Tuscan friends By Dorothy Nevile Lees

Fragrance Quote for April 5th, 2012-Tuscan feasts and Tuscan friends
By Dorothy Nevile Lees

Few things quicken memories like perfumes. The sense of smell is one of the most potent in calling up and recreating a vanished past. A wreath of vegetable smoke from a bonfire blows across our path, and we are back in the moorland farm where we spent a long past summer; as by magic a thousand half-forgotten details rise before our mind. Or it is a handful of dried lavender, which recalls to us some quaint old English garden where the hot air quivers above the many coloured flowers, where the fruittrees clothe the mellow-tinted walls and the great bushes of purple-grey flowers fill with their spicy odour all the happy, sheltered place. Or the scent of a violet, a freezia, a lily, steals across to us. We start involuntarily; our hearts beat faster, our faces pale. We had believed that the old wound was quite healed, that the grass of utter forgetfulness grew upon the grave where that old sorrow was buried. But the violets, the lilies, yet remember; they have passed on the secret from one generation to another; they will never cease to remind us of that past of which we would fain be rid until we pass into the land where all things are forgotten—that quiet country where regret shall trouble us no longer, where even remorse shall at last be lulled to sleep.