Quotes About Decay

Jealousy smells like the water in the bottom of a flower vase after the flowers have died.

The jealousy and evilness are like worms, that destroy the soul.

Jealousy is like wood ants, it will nibble away, until there's nothing left.

El cetro y la corona acaban derrumbándose Y todo se hace igual en la tierra Sólo la memoria de los justos Deja una dulce fragancia en el mundo y florece en el polvo.

?i pe el timpul va sfâr?i prin a-l distruge pentru a-l readuce la via??.

Uneori progresul este cel are m?soara decaden?a.

Timpul aducea cu el toate lucrurile care ne distrugeau ?i de care ne temeam: uzura, del?sarea, schimbarea, declinul ?i uitarea.

Everything here was mean and dirty, the people ate worms.

Vous savez ce que c'est, un grenier? C'est plein de choses qui sont comme mortes : d'anciennes armoires toutes cassées, de mauvais souliers, des corsages qui ont fait leur temps; enfin, des choses qu'on a mis là pour les laisser mourir toutes seules. Quand on les revoit, elles ont l'air de vous le reprocher; c'est toujours un peu triste.

I was overwhelmed by the smells. Slow, heavy odours, tenaciously biting, forming a strange mixture of excessive life and death, of birth and decay.

Hope cannot survive the poison of her recent proof: the world is a terrible place. San Pedro Sula was terrible, Mexico is terrible, el norte will be terrible. Even her gold-dappled memories of the cloud forest are beginning to rot and decay.

The body politic, like the human body, begins to die from its birth, and bears in itself the causes of its destruction.

The world was a sick animal, a sort of huge cancerous tumour, a thing of bubbling liquids, whitish patches, dribbling pus, fantastic pimples of dead skin that grew in all directions, swelled up, became more and more like fuzzy hair. The right thing would be to go away, to vanish for ever from the face of the sun.

The answer is to stop struggling, to go into the fear. Let her go. The cause of the unhappiness isn't the situation, but the resistance. You're making disease and decay and death evil, but they're not evil, they just are. The clinging is the cause of the unhappiness. Release is the answer. Let her sink.

fish and visitors stink in 3 days.

Once, it was different. Once, people had homes and parents and went to schools. Cities existed within countries and those countries had leaders. Travel could be for adventure or recreation, not survival. But by the time I was grown up, the wider context was a sick joke. Incredible, how a slip could become a freefall and a freefall could become a hell where we lived on as ghosts in a haunted world.

In my absence, the surveyor had become a kind of frenzied serial killer of the inanimate.

The fish rots from the head." Fish rotted all over, cell corruption being nonhierarchical and not caste-driven, but point taken.

I felt as if the whole house was like a living organism slowly and imperceptibly digesting me by the action of some stupefying gastric juice.

I am writing this sitting in the waterlogged lobby of a rotting, half-finished condominium complex. I am surrounded by cavorting freshwater seals and have two pearl-handled revolvers in my lap, a bottle of vodka in my right hand, a human body in the freezer in the kitchens behind me, and a rather large displaced rockhopper penguin staring me in the face.

Most had bellies full of plastic. The plastic would grow and grow in their bellies until, years from now, as they mingled, as they drank expensive wine, their bellies would burst and out would come all the plastic, dribbling onto the floor. Pressing cool and bloody against some synthetic floor.

That which dies shall still know life in death for all that decays is not forgotten and reanimated shall walk the world in a bliss of not-knowing Ã¢â'¬Â¦

What are You, my God? I thought angrily. How do You compare to this stricken mass gathered to affirm to You their faith, their anger, their defiance? What does Your grandeur mean, Master of the Universe, in the face of all this cowardice, this decay, and this misery? Why do you go on troubling these poor people's wounded minds, their ailing bodies?

Concrete can rot. It turns green and black before crumbling away. Maybe only people from Congo know that.