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I first started wearing fragrance when I was thirteen or fourteen, and the smell was candy-like. They were in very colorful bottles, like turquoise and pink. By the time I was sixteen or seventeen, it got more girly and more floral.

My mother worked in a chocolate factory, so when I came home from school, I had a piece of baguette with dark chocolate in it. I remember her smelling like chocolate.

Everyone knows that there are some odors that send you directly back to memories of your childhood - odors from Christmas time and so forth.

My first and strongest memories about perfume come from childhood, from my mother, and they are a complex blend of her private and public selves.

Smell is so powerful, you know. My grannies would both bake things like shortbreads and cookies. I think whenever I smell those kinds of things it really takes me back to my childhood.

I remember making my own fragrances when I was young.

When I think of my childhood, I see my mother, the complete sixties parent, decked in purple frappe silk caftans, the acidic smell of newly stripped pine mingling with incense.

When you have children, your house smells very unpleasant all the time.

When a baby comes you can smell two things: the smell of flesh, which smells like chicken soup, and the smell of lilies, the flower of another garden, the spiritual garden.

Scents evoke very, very powerful memories, whether it's the scent of someone that you know and someone that you love, or if it's a meal that your mother made.