Quotes About Decay

In gardens, beauty is a by-product. The main business is sex and death.

The hallways were starkly illuminated by fluorescent tubes and populated by shambling disheveled ancients supporting themselves on walkers, harried by attendants dressed like hospital personnel but with the dead-eyed stares of prison warders.

Questo luogo caldo e umido, che sapeva di muffa, dove aveva trovato rifugio, era un mausoleo di libri, un tesoro dimenticato, un cimitero di tutte le pagine non lette e illeggibili.

To him who has nothing it is forbidden not to relish filth.

When the smoke thins, I can look across at the other buildings. So many of the windows are broken. Maybe the maintenance men in Arthur's office have already started putting in new panes.

The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I.

The dirty beetles had perished, and their paper armor drifted in the streets.

Worlds on worlds are rolling ever From creation to decay, Like the bubbles on a river, Sparkling, bursting, borne away.

I am the Angel of Death to any kind of plant.

I wouldn't wish the eighties on anyone, it was the time when all that was rotten bubbled to the surface. If you were not at the receiving end of this mayhem you could be unaware of it.

I am in an adolescence in reverse, as mysterious as the first, except that this time I feel it as a decay of the odds that I might live for a while, that I can sleep it off.

All things deteriorate in time.

We know that our senses are subject to decay, that from our middle years they are decaying all the time; but happily it is as if we didn't know and didn't believe.

An age builds up cities: an hour destroys them.

It would perhaps be as well if things were to remain quiet for a few years yet, so that all this 1848 democracy has time to rot away.

For me, the problem of time is linked up with that of death, with the thought that we inevitably draw closer and closer to it, with the horror of decay.

The cancer of time is eating us away

The time flies. The time flies feed on rotting clocks.

Time destroys everything.

Time on its back bears all things far away - Full many a challenge is wrought by many a day - Shape, fortune, name, and nature all decay

Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time Steals ere we can effect them.

Time touches all things with a destroying hand.

The story-tellers and spinners of erotic tales are hardly more than butchers who hang up meat attractive to flies.

Dowered with great historic names which they almost despise, they do their best to drag the memory of their ancient lineage into dishonour by vulgar passions, low tastes, and a scorn as well as lack of true intelligence. Let us not talk of them. The English aristocracy was once a magnificent tree, but its broad boughs are fallen,--lopped off and turned into saleable timber,--and there is but a decaying stump of it left.