“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.”

“YOU DON'T SMELL FIRE," I yelled. YOU SMELL SMOKE.”

“Every Sunday I nudge Sam in her direction, and he walks to where she is sitting and hugs her. She smells him behind the ears, where he most smells like sweet unwashed new potatoes. This is in fact what I think God may smell like, a young child's slightly dirty neck.”

“The novels, travel books and poems I read had a particular smell. The smell of cellars. An almost spicy smell, a mixture of dust and grease. Verdigris. Books today don't have a smell. They don't even smell of print.”

“As soon as we were inside, Edwart's family rushed to greet me. What seemed like thirty people circled me, chattering away. "Oh my god, you smell good.""Good smell, good smell.""(she really does smell good.)""do you mind if I put my nose right on you? Right on your arm?""More smelly smelly please.""If I could destroy every part of my brain except the part that smelled your smell, I would do it. I would do it in a second.""Let's go, Belle," Edwart whispered and grabbed my hand. We pushed through the ravenous vampires nad out the front door."So that went well!" I said outside in the U-HAUL. I sniffed my hair. I did smell good."No, no, that wasn't my house," Edwart said, starting the truck. "I don't even know those people! Sometimes I get addresses confused.”

“What does he smell like?” “Smell like?” I scrunched up my face. “You know, he looks like he’d smell good.”