Quotes About Decay

one ought to recognize that the present political chaos is connected with the decay of language, and that one can probably bring some improvement by starting at the verbal end....Political language -- and with variations this is true of all political parties, from Conservatives to Anarchists -- is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind. -- 'Politics and the English Language,' 1946

What a degraded cosmos. What a case of something starting out nice and going bad.

What a beautiful country this must have been once, when you could hop in a coupe and buy a bag of burgers and drive, drive, drive, stopping to swim in a river or sleep in a grove of trees without worrying about intaking mutagens or having the militia arrest you and send you to the Everglades for eternity.

What a degraded cosmos.

One day or another, it is true, dust, supposing it persists, will probably begin to gain the upper hand over domestics, invading the immense ruins of abandoned buildings, deserted dockyards; and, at that distant epoch, nothing will remain to ward off night-terrors, for lack of which we have become such great book-keepers...

It's a Tim sandwich. The meat is fresh, but the bread is moldy.

The reason we have cancer and heart disease is the same reason you can't get rid of the wear and tear on your tires on your car: as soon as you use them, you are wearing them away. You can't make eternal tires, and it's the same with the human body.

And the air was rent with cries of the living glaring at the rotted bones and rags of their kin and friends just a-swingin in the winds circling about the land, and pulling the bones and rags--some crumbling and dry, some still squirming with the worms eating away at them--from those once mighty roots, and putting them back in the gaping holes.

His poetry was a bouquet of dead, rotting roses, a sickness, a canker, a stupid, self-indulgent delusion.

You will not find lasting peace in the world around you, in circumstances, or in human relationships. The external world is always in flux—under the curse of death and decay. But there is a gold mine of Peace deep within you, waiting to be tapped. Take

The history of prevailing status quos shows decay and decadence infecting the opulent materialism of the Haves. The spiritual life of the Haves is a ritualistic justification of their possessions.

New York makes one think of the collapse of civilization, about Sodom and Gomorrah, the end of the world. The end wouldn't come as a surprise here. Many people already bank on it.

I feel like crying. There's something so sad about broken concrete.

He found a scene very much as Yale described, although, in his more accomplished hand, the macabre details would be far more graphically rendered: rats had gnawed "wet red galleries" into the bodies of the dead, many of which "were already swollen twice or thrice life-width, their fat heads laughing with black mouth.… Of others the softer parts were fallen in. A few had burst open, and were liquescent with decay." Venturing deep into

maybe it's just my imagination but I can smell the stench of a decaying humanity wallowing in the throes of hypocrisy, apathy, misery and I take a DEEP breath before stepping out.

There are two of me now, old and disfigured, new and disheveled. A crinkled, yellow newspaper balled up in the fireplace, spidery face, rotted jaw, sewn and resewn.

They closed the transient 5th Avenue Motel and now where will they go? They came from all over to stay for a night or a month or whatever they could afford, however they can afford it – and now it's gone, broken windows boarded up, chain link fence surrounding it like it's a dog with scurvy. The transient hotel drained pale, pissing in an empty ashtray.

It smelled something like a keg of bad beer overturned in a mortician's storage room on a hot summer's day.

The canals went gray and turgid, thickening like blood in the veins of a ripening corpse.

A print book is really a kind of tree zombie.

I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. For the creation waits in eager expectation for children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. (Rom. 8:18–21 NIV)

I want to enter more fully into the fellowship of sharing in your sufferings, living out the birth pangs of new-creation life in this broken world, which groans for its release from the bondage to decay—a release that is sure to come (Rom. 8:18–25). Our labors in you are not in vain, Jesus (Phil. 3:10–11).

The ruins of time build mansions in eternity.

Anyone who lives in this time is concerned with grottiness.