Quotes About Decay

Faerie might be beautiful, but its beauty is like a golden stag's carcass, crawling with maggots beneath his hide, ready to burst.

Destruction and ruin," she says with a clack of her tongue. "I can practically smell it on you.

ElfowiÄ™ sÄ… piÄ™kni, ale to piÄ™kno jest jak Å›cierwo zÅ'otego jelenia; pod skórÄ… rojÄ… siÄ™ z?erajÄ…ce padlinÄ™ robaki, gotowe w ka?dej chwili wypeÅ'zn?? na powierzchnie.

Zgnije wszystko, co masz i czym jesteÅ›, stanie siÄ™ nicoÅ›ciÄ…. W nico?? siÄ™ obrócisz. NicoÅ›ciÄ… jesteÅ›.

A fly buzzed over her shoulder making her think of the bodies inside, at the way the flies would be landing on them, at the opalescent maggots that would hatch and tunnel, multiplying endlessly, spreading like an infection until black flies covered the room in a shifting carpet, until all anyone could hear was the whirring of their glassy wings.

It'll rot,' I say. 'And so will we.

if you could float when there was no room, no space anywhere, above, below, when you couldn't take a step without feeling the spongy give of rotting stuff beneath your feet. She

to have reached perfection that the seeds of its decay begin to germinate.

Arthur … And now it was all in ruins

Zombies smell worse than anything you can imagine if you haven't been hunting things on the dark side of the world. It's a ripe, gassy odour, like rotting eggs and meat gone bad, crawling blind with maggots. It's road kill and decayed food and body odour all rolled into one package and tied up with puke.

If you were dead, would you want your body to decompose and be eaten by worms until it laid scattered in a zillion pieces as worm dung? Or would you rather have a purpose, find meaning in death and help the generations that come after you?

summer ends and autumn begins. The trees retract their sap in a hurry and the resulting bright colours must be a panic-stricken response to the sudden withdrawal of that life-blood. Because the sight's so beautiful, you forget what this gorgeous display actually represents. Decay and death. If only human death were so glorious.

Like memories in cold decay, Transmissions echoing away, Far from the world of you and I Where oceans bleed into the sky..

She submitted that Western society seemed to promote longevity at any cost, whereas a shorter life vibrant to its very end was surely more desirable than blighting a fine and fruitful existence with protracted decay.

How much kinder it would have been, to turn off, like an appliance. The gradual, drawn-out corruption of the body while its host was still trapped inside was a torture of a sort they would have contrived at Guantanamo, or Bergen-Belsen. Every old age was an Edgar Allan Poe story.

Speak of the devil. Luella had wandered in wearing what might once have been a stylish frock, but the hem was shredded from her having torn at it, and the sky-blue fabric was encrusted with food. The bloop of her stomach echoed the bulge of an adult diaper at the rear. Carter had grown accustomed to this decayed incarnation of his father's second wife, but fifteen years earlier the shock had been profound.

There's such cultural rot taking place, such a disintegration throughout our culture. Values, morality, you name it. Standards have been relaxed, and people are not being held to them. People's intentions, if they're said to be good and honorable, that's all that matters.

The time necessary for the disappearance of half the atoms, called the half-life, is a fundamental characteristic of each radio-element; according to the substance, the value of the half-life varies between a fraction of a second and millions of years.

In the depths of the moor, the peat may be seen riven like floes of ice, and the rifts are sometimes twelve to fourteen feet deep, cut through black vegetable matter, the product of decay of plants through countless generations.

When writers for adults contemplate Venice, they behold decay, dereliction and death. Thomas Mann, Daphne du Maurier, L. P. Hartley and Salley Vickers have all dispatched hapless protagonists to Italy, where they see Venice - and die.

Political chaos is connected with the decay of language... one can probably bring about some improvement by starting at the verbal end.

Throughout the whole vegetable, sensible, and rational world, whatever makes progress towards maturity, as soon as it has passed that point, begins to verge towards decay.

But behind the existence which falls from one present to the other, without a past, without a future, behind these sounds which decompose from day to day, peel off and slip towards death, the melody stays the same, young and firm, like a pitiless witness.

A bag of meat that breathes, and when that stops, nothing but rotting garbage.