Quotes About Decay

for me obedience to another is the decay of self

and now as we ready to self-destruct there is very little left to kill which makes the tragedy less and more much much more.

we are a scene chalked out with the sick white brush of age

Then I opened the bread. It was green and moldy and had a sharp sour smell. How could they sell bread like that? What kind of a place was Florida?

and as the worms pant for your bones, I would so like to tell you that this happens to bears and elephants

I was like a turd that drew flies instead of like a flower that butterflies and bees desired.

Jag föddes för att kränga rosor på de dödas avenyer

I gave him my code name. 'This is Mr. Slow Death.

The problem was you had to keep choosing between one evil or another, and no matter what you chose, they sliced a little bit more off you, until there was nothing left. At the age of 25 most people were finished. A whole goddamned nation of assholes driving automobiles, eating, having babies, doing everything in the worst way possible, like voting for the presidential candidate who reminded them most of themselves.

Non ero ancora morto, solo in un stato di rapido decadimento.

as you are stuck in your poor body and in your poor life and it's all slowly dissolving, dissolving into nothing. like all the other bodies, like all the other lives, we all are being counted out, taken down by disease by just being rubbed up against the hard days, the harder years. there's no escaping this, we just have to take it, accept it— or like most— not think about it. at all.

we have everything and we have nothing. some do it well enough for a while and then give way. fame gets them or disgust or age or lack of proper diet or ink across the eyes or children in college or new cars or broken backs while skiing in Switzerland or new politics or new wives or just natural change and decay—

las palabras bonitas como las mujeres bonitas se arrugan y mueren.

in the most decent sometimes sun there is the softsmoke feeling from urns and the canned sound of old battleplanes and if you go inside and run your finger along the window ledge you'll find dirt, maybe even earth. and if you look out the window there will be the day, and as you get older you'll keep looking keep looking sucking your tongue in a little ah ah no no maybe some do it naturally some obscenely everywhere.

I was born to hustle roses down the avenues of the dead.

ve birden hepsinin toplu olarak düzüÅŸtüklerini hayal ettim pistin ortas?nda ölüler iÄŸrenç ve bayat meniyle ölüleri suluyor. ortal?kta dolan?p geÄŸiriyor osuruyor birbirlerine çarp?yor iÄŸrenç kokuyor kaybediyor düÅŸten nefret ediyorlard? gerçekleÅŸmediÄŸi için...

Our visit to Calakmul did nothing to suggest that Folan's advice was wrong. Trees enveloped the great buildings, their roots slowly ripping apart the soft limestone walls. Peter photographed a monument with roots coiled around it, boa constrictor style, five or six feet high. So overwhelming was the tropical forest that I thought Calakmul's history would remain forever unknown.

I won't go into it any further, other than to say that year by year the world darkens down and things are always going away.

when brought into contact with the empire, picked up all the vices of its decaying civilisation without losing those of his original barbarism. It is not without some reason that the doings of Gaiseric have left their mark on the history of language in the shape of the modern word ' Vandalism.

Without periodic nuclear testing, weaponeers argued, they could not be certain that the weapons in the nuclear stockpile would work. Nuclear bombs, like any other machines, decay over time.

the beasts that perish

because there's something joyless and deadening in the air, as if what this room really holds is the decaying miscarried fetus of the human future. Anyone who lingers here will sicken and die, just as if they were stranded in the pyramid on a dead world where once the photo-reconnaissance Concordes flew.

We are medium-sized mammals who only prosper because we've developed a half-arsed ability to terraform the less suitable bits of the planet we evolved on, and we're conscious of our inevitable decay and death, and we can't live anywhere else. There is no invisible sky daddy to give us immortal life and a harp and wings when we die.

It was a prerogative of aristocracy, Ellis reflected, to live upon others, and the last privilege which aristocracy in decay would willingly relinquish.