He was not bound. No one led him by the arm. He got out of the carriage as if he were a free man.

He had preserved the best part of her and made it his own: the principle of her scent.

...talent means nothing, while experience, acquired in humility and with hard work, means everything.

With one glance he had got himself trapped in the brown fundament of her eyes, he was in danger of sinking, as if into a soft, brown swamp, and he had to close his own eyes for a second to get out of it.

He who ruled scent ruled the hearts of men.

For people could close their eyes to greatness, to horrors, to beauty, and their ears to melodies or deceiving words. But they couldn't escape scent. For scent was a brother of breath. Together with breath it entered human beings, who couldn't defend themselves against it, not if they wanted to live. And scent entered into their very core, went directly to their hearts, and decided for good and all between affection and contempt, disgust and lust, love and hate. He who ruled scent ruled the hearts of men.

Not a visible enthusiasm but a hidden one, an excitement burning with a cold flame.