Quotes About Decay

All-devouring time, envious age, Nought can escape you, and by slow degrees, Worn by your teeth, all things will lingering die.

The utter destruction of our culture isn't just around the corner. It has been here for some time.

Try to maintain the perspective that, in time, everything disintegrates and returns to its initial form.

Time destroyed Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.

Vices of the time; vices of the man.

The world of time, of space and condition, pleasure and pain, birth, growth, maturation, decay and death, spinning, spinning, spinning this world, always spinning.

Morality, too, is a question of time.

Damnosa quid non imminuit dies? What does not destructive time destroy?

Earth has waited for them, All the time of their growth Fretting for their decay: Now she has them at last.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty face from day to day.

Brass shines with constant usage, a beautiful dress needs wearing, Leave a house empty, it rots.

The world around me is dissolving leaving here and there spots of time. The world is a cancer eating itself away.

Death like style is the removal of rubbish.

Among the many reasons assignable for the sad decay of true Christianity, perhaps the neglecting to assemble ourselves together, in religious societies, may not be one of the least.

One of the most striking signs of the decay of art is when we see its separate forms jumbled together.

Things come apart much easier than they go together.

Mean and mighty, rotting Together, have one dust.

But this flower comes in the form of a human; it must soon succumb to disease, atrophy, ruined skin, broken teeth, the unbearable frailty of mortality.

Have you noticed? Where so many millions of powerful bawling beasts lay down on the earth and died it's hard to tell now what's bone, and what merely was once.

If you lower your head to within a foot or two of an infested corpse (and this I truly don't recommend), you can hear them feeding. Arpad pinpoints the sound: "Rice Krispies." Ron frowns. Ron used to like Rice Krispies.

It is difficult to put words to the smell of decomposing human. It is dense and cloying, sweet but not flower-sweet. Halfway between rotting fruit and rotting meat.

On top of its other charms, the maggot breathes through its ass. It

Not that there's anything wrong with just lying around on your back. In it's way, rotting is interesting too, as we will see. It's just that there are other ways to spend your time as a cadaver.

When you get right down to it, there is no dignified way to go, be it decomposition, incineration, dissection, tissue digestion, or composting. They're all, bottom line, a little disagreeable. It takes the careful application of a well-considered euphemism—burial, cremation, anatomical gift-giving, water reduction, ecological funeral—to bring it to the point of acceptance.