“I seem to be allergic to whatever that terrible smell is," said Gateman when the urge to sneeze had finally subsided."What terrible smell?""The air," said Gateman. "It smells...different.""That's called oxygen," said Professor Boxley. "Freh air. No cars, no buses, no factories; just pure, clean oxygen.”

“Yes," said Cook. That is soup that you are smelling. The princess, not that you would know or care, is missing, bless her goodhearted self. and times are terrible. and when times are terrible, soup is the answer. Don't it smell like the answer?”

“Inside, the air smelled so fragile you could break it with a sneeze.”

“I adore a little summer shower, said I, with a deep, appreciative intake of the damp, salty air. It makes the world smell fresh and new.”

“Oxygen was called flammable air for a while, but it didn't catch on.”

“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.”