Quotes About Worms

I saw my enemies in Munich, and they are worms.

Yes! thus will you be, queen of the Graces, After the last sacraments, When you go beneath grass and luxuriant flowers, To molder among the bones of the dead.  Then, O my beauty! say to the worms who will Devour you with kisses, That I have kept the form and the divine essence Of my decomposed love!

His lips look like two worms fucking.

His lips were as soft and red as the worms you found after a rain, and his eyes were vain and cruel. "I hate you," she whispered.

Why should death make a man truthful, or even clever? The dead are likely dull fellows, full of tedious complaints- the ground's too cold, my gravestone should be larger, why does he get more worms than I do...

Wisdom teaches us that none but birds should go out early, and that not even birds should do it unless they are out of worms.

We can shape-shift whenever we like. She made a face. You mean all those hideous stories are true? Rats and bats and slimy worm things? Now, why would I want to be a slimy worm thing? He was openly laughing. The sound startled him; he couldn't remember laughing aloud.

We can shape-shift whenever we like." She made a face. "You mean all those hideous stories are true? Rats and bats and slimy worm things?" "Now, why would I want to be a slimy worm thing?

The worms were beautifully drawn, with their nervous systems and reproductive organs shaded in different colors of highlighter, but the artist had also given them big goofy smiling faces. Grotesque but lovable in a cross-eyed way.

It was a hard sell, since he's a database person, and as far as I've seen, once those database worms eat into your brain, it's hard to ever get anything practical done again. To a database person, every nail looks like a thumb. Or something like that.

Stories are like snapshots, pictures snatched out of time, with clean hard edges. But this was life, and life always begins and ends in a bloody muddle, womb to tomb, just one big mess, a can of worms left to rot in the sun.

God, A Poem 'I didn't exist at Creation, I didn't exist at the Flood, And I won't be around for Salvation To sort out the sheep from the cud- 'Or whatever the phrase is. The fact is In soteriological terms I'm a crude existential malpractice And you are a diet of worms

Of comfort no man speak. Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs. Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes write sorrow on the bosom of the earth." I

The dissolute and unlawful king came: Herod! I saw him with my own eyes when he called me to Jericho to heal him. I took along my secret herbs—I knew all about such lore—and went. I went, and from that day on, I have not been able to eat meat, for I saw his putrescent flesh; I have not been able to drink wine, for I saw his blood filled with worms. I have retained his stench in my nostrils for over thirty years.

At last the play was ended. All had grown dark. The tears streamed down his face. Looking up into the sky there was nothing but blackness there too. Ruin and death, he thought, cover all. The life of man ends in the grave. Worms devour us. Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe Should yawn Ã¢â'¬â€

He began with the day's copy of The New York Times. His lips moving like wrestling worms, he read about all kinds of things. Hrushchov

I am so tired of waiting. Aren't you, for the world to become good and beautiful and kind? Let us take a knife and cut the world in two— and see what worms are eating at the rind.

Brave lodgings for one, brave lodgings for one, A few feet of cold earth, when life is done; A stone at the head, a stone at the feet, A rich, juicy meal for the worms to eat; Rank grass over head, and damp clay around, Brave lodgings for one, these, in holy ground!

Science is a cemetery of dead ideas, even though live ideas are born out of it. Worms, also, feed upon corpses.

I don't say that bodies like flint, which are commonly called inanimate, have perceptions and appetition; rather they have something of that sort in them, as worms are in cheese.

I was in awe of death then, and now after many years and experiences, still am. I have never grown jaded about it. One minute we are sentient beings and the next, fodder for worms.

It is infinitely better to transplant a heart than to bury it to be devoured by worms.

Every true poet is a monster. He destroys people and their speech. His singing elevates a technique that wipes out the earth so we are not eaten by worms. The drunk sells his coat. The thief sells his mother. Only the poet sells his soul to separate it from the body that he loves.

Grow the lawn and mow the lawn always keep the TV on, brush your teeth and kill the germs, poison apples, poison worms.