‘Tis Not Madness Perfume OilAdd to cart
This is the air; that is the glorious sun;
This pearl she gave me, I do feel’t and see’t;
And though ’tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
Yet ’tis not madness.
A vibrant swirl of orange blossom, sweet patchouli, vetiver, and sandalwood.
‘Tis Strange Perfume OilAdd to cart
“Macbeth ruled during a time when the old gods were not yet forgotten. Almost no one could read and their memories and stories reached back into the deepest shadows.
When the imagination stretches backwards as well as forwards it creates a sort of slide, or ladder. Like the children’s game! Time is much thicker. There is a substance about it that allows beings to gain purchase.”
Both bog and castle, moor and battlefield, chivalry and nightmare: scarred leather armor, moss-covered stone, shadows upon shadows, and billows of black incense.
Antony Perfume OilSelect Options
The embodiment of Classic masculinity. A warrior’s scent: the green hills and grasses of the battlefields, the resinous incense from the prayers to his Gods, and a touch of the musky leather of his armor. Ambergris and frankincense with sage, and basil.
Bawd Perfume OilAdd to cart
Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will
You use him kindly? He will line your apron with
Raucous red velvet musk, sweet patchouli, billowing peony, bourbon vanilla, and a cascade of red rose petals.
Cakes and Ale Perfume OilAdd to cart
Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous,
there shall be no more cakes and ale?
— Sir Toby Belch
Hell yeah, we’ll have cakes and ale: honey cakes and stout.
Diana Perfume OilAdd to cart
My temple stands in Ephesus: hie thee thither,
And do upon mine altar sacrifice.
There, when my maiden priests are met together,
before the people all,
Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife:
To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter’s, call
And give them repetition to the life.
Or perform my bidding, or thou livest in woe;
Do it, and happy; by my silver bow!
Artemis, standing in her golden chariot… driving off with her fast-trotting deer over the hills and far away to some rich-scented sacrifice: leather, gleaming golden amber, red amaranth, cypress, asphodel accord, a gleam of silver, and soft brown musk.
I Will be Strange, Stout, in Yellow Stockings Perfume OilOut of Stock
I thank my stars I am happy. I will
be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and
cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting
on. Jove and my stars be praised!
Champaca absolute, lemon peel, basmati rice, smoked vanilla husk, and green tea.
Iago Perfume OilSelect Options
Malevolent, dark and shadowy: sinuous black musk, wet leather and vetiver.
Juliet Perfume OilSelect Options
Sweet pea with stargazer lily, calla lily, heliotrope, honeysuckle, white musk and a touch of fresh pear.
Katharina Perfume OilSelect Options
A strong, willful blend with a soft, utterly lovely soul: white musk with a trickle of bright, sharp apricot and orange blossom.
Lady Macbeth Perfume OilSelect Options
The essence of ambition, covetousness and manipulation: sweet Bordeaux wine, blood red currant, thyme and wild berries.
Marina Perfume OilAdd to cart
When I was born:
Never was waves nor wind more violent.
A waving wet haze of blue and green: blackberry wine and soft oudh, cashmere woods, iris pallida, sea salt, and turquoise musk.
O Spirit of Love Perfume OilAdd to cart
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe’er,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.
Effervescent rose chypre and bourbon vanilla.
Oberon Perfume OilSelect Options
Orchid, white musk, and bergamot wafting over juniper berries, with a gentle touch of soft, earthy patchouli.
Othello Perfume OilSelect Options
Arabian musk with two roses and a bevy of Middle Eastern and Indian spices.
Robin Goodfellow Perfume OilSelect Options
Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,
Puts the wretch that lies in woe
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night
That the graves all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide:
And we fairies, that do run
By the triple Hecate’s team,
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic: not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow’d house:
I am sent with broom before,
To sweep the dust behind the door.
Dark musk, moss-covered wood, ragwort, heather, and sage.
Tamora Perfume OilSelect Options
Amber, heliotrope, golden sandalwood, peach blossom and vanilla bean.
The Apothecary Perfume OilSelect Options
Tea leaf with three mosses, green grass, a medley of herbal notes, and a drop of ginger and fig.
The Last Syllable Perfume OilAdd to cart
INT.- THE STUDY – NIGHT.
The artist is at work at her desk. In front of her is a wall,
pinned with papers, photos, maps, lists. To her left is a
window. It is dark.
In front of her, her desk is piled high, with an assemblage
of papers, odd pieces of string, a mirror, a doll. A singed
straw figure. A 1970’s tape recorder. A destroyed cassette
tape. And more.
The artist picks up a magnifying glass from the pile. She
leans to examine the objects in detail.
We shift to a close up that moves through the objects, and
everything feels new under such examination. It is as though
we are in the landscape of her imagination.
Photos pinned to cool plaster walls, discarded papers, a web of strings, a mirror, a doll, singed straw, scattered books, and unfurled magnetic tape.
Titania Perfume OilSelect Options
A nocturnal bounty of fae dew-kissed petals and pale fruits: white grape, white peach, iced pear, musk rose, sweet pea, moonflower and snapdragon.
Titus Andronicus Perfume OilSelect Options
Dark musk and black amber with frankincense, red sandalwood, neroli and bergamot.
Yorick Perfume OilSelect Options
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now?
Grave dirt, bone, decay, angel’s trumpet, and moldering scraps of shroud: the essence of finality.