Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Rotted. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Rotted Quotes And Sayings by 93 Authors including Emile Zola,Al Davis,David Baldacci,Herman Melville,Stephen King for you to enjoy and share.
A ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to lie rotting on the ground.
Just shred baby, shred.
The place smelled of mildew and rot. What
Gone? - gone? What means that little word? - What
home and there it sits on the counter, going sour.
Gone. The saddest word in the language. In any language.
I dropped a word from the string of negative adjectives that had trailed behind me like tin cans behind the village idiot. Unappreciated, unloved, unmarried. But no longer unpublished.
There's a Chinese saying: "The first part that rots is the head." It really does. I've seen it.
pulled falling out of the tree right on
I pulled out Riptide.
Childlike wonder and awe have died. The scenery and poetry and music of the majesty of God have dried up like a forgotten peach at the back of the refrigerator.
It's a bore - B-O-R-E - when you find you've begun to rot.
preferably left buried in
Been stolen from Finn
If I rest,I rust
Whacked away under the desk like hail on a barn roof.
Properly buried."
"Properly kept."
"That is the way with witches."
"And with all things.
We have buried the putrid corpse of liberty
the ruin insufficiently ruined,
A Caske and an ill custome must be broken.
Cracked. The tub was as old as God and pitted. There
Swear to me swear to me that if it isn't dead you'll all come back.
Damn rancid chicken.
Jock put his shoulder to the framework and the whole thing crumbled inward with a crash of glass.
"Rotten as touch-wood," he said. "This place would never stand a siege.
disintegrated. Does
Gone, but not forgotten.
I've been shucked and gone to heaven.
All too soon this body
Will lie on the ground,
Cast aside, deprived of consciousness,
Like a useless scrap of wood.
An adult is just a child who started to rot
turned it over. "Your
screwed blued and tattooed
Deader than four o'clock.
Ditched like an unwanted cat, worn-out tire, ugly blind date.
We could not salvage our clothes; we threw them away and changed into fresh uniforms. We even abandoned our boots. Maggots had worked their way into nooks and crannies of our shoes and occasionally fell onto the floor.
Again from its brumal sleep
Rust is the failure of the work of man. The project, the venture, the experiment: failed, given up on, and not cleaned up after.
Dead. It sounds final but it's a word missing an ing.
Wear down to be renewed.
Wrecked on the lee shore of age.
Forever encased in the amber of a writer's prose.
sold into an indentured servitude
something important is broken
Question was gone, tossed onto the pile of lost chances that made up Before.
He was deader than a shrunken head at a Hackey Sack festival.
once again, placed upon a forgotten shelf--never to be read.
Unleavened Bread, all
Gone. Vanished. Nothing left. Nothing said.
They buried him in dirt that smelled like broken batteries, and crouched in a fiberglass shed while the acid rain poured down to dissolve his flesh and bleach his bones.
The bitch is dead now.
pickled in formaldehyde and painted like a whore, / Shrimp-pink incorruptible, not lost or gone before.
was forgotten and neglected.
My heart felt withered, a neglected fruit that would never again sweeten, now that my love was dead.
I sort of ... accidentally ... tore it to pieces.
And threw it in the fire.
Well, he was mine after all.
Some nutter's gone and pulled a Jack the Ripper.
She's dead. She's dead.
What's gone is gone.
Set fire to the broken pieces; start anew.
It ain't no broken.
All of them were shriveled, desiccated, bone-thin and skeletal, every jaw cruelly broken, opening and closing in mute entreaty, the teeth clacking together like macabre wind chimes as they pendulated in the lurching trees.
The only thing that held it together the previous summer was baling wire, cheap used parts, and cussin' that would fry the hair out of a frog's nostrils.
Rest, refreshed and revived your soul.
The dead elm leaves hung like folded bats.
Harry Potter is dead.
The books, raped and rummaged of their dignity, lay in heaps on the floor.
You rest, you rust.
ragged piece of thin glass jutted out of the socket, all that was left of the
Mortification. I'm draped in it. Painted in it. Buried in it.
A book is indeed dead until a reader brings it into life by reading it.
I don't mind people talking rot in my presence, but it must not be utter rot.
I'd been broken beyond repair.
My natural elasticity was crushed, my intellect languished, the disposition to read departed, the cheerful spark that lingered about my eye died; the dark night of slavery closed in upon me; and behold a man transformed into a brute!
I was struck all on a heap.
Don't eat anything incapable of rotting.
The next day on the far side of the mountain we encountered the two lads that had deserted us. Hangin upside down in a tree. They'd been skinned and I can tell ye it does very little for a man's appearance.
He's picked clean! Eaten by cats!
Something had been buried that was not yet dead.
I am ugly. I am black inside, rotting and putrid.
Big F took out a small box, unwrapped
I'm falling into disrepair
Umbed by disappointment and betrayal, like a child who had been awakened suddenly from a summer dream about christmas morning.
They murdered him.
The freshness of an unworn garment in her hands couldn't extinguish the feeling that she was a damaged, hole-ridden item, thrown to the back of a closet to be forgotten.
We'd been so good together once, and then we'd rotted, like some corpse with a delayed burial.
were all wired to come come unwound.
When those who found this skeleton attempted to disengage it from that which it held in its grasp, it crumbled to dust.
Sly Boots had betrayed them. They had lost the skeletons.
(refactored) /**
May the crushed spirit revived.
YOUR LUCKY COLOR IS DEAD.
The die has been cast.
I was stained by failure.
We shove the dirt over the book, tamping down the disturbed soil. The grass will grow back soon enough. It will be for us the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Inanimate objects have a life of their own, especially when they are the daily companions of a living soul. Without that life, they take on a bleak, desolate appearance, like furniture piled up in a warehouse.
Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.
that's crumbling back into
My heart is lost; the beasts have eaten it.
A bag which was left and not only taken but turned away was not found. The place was shown to be very like the last time. A piece was not exchanged, not a bit of it, a piece was left over. The rest was mismanaged.
There are only two choices: keep it or chuck it. And if you're going to keep it, make sure to take care of it.
I watched with disturbed fascination as the corpses decomposed, flesh turning to a pale tan goo. The bones melted after, and then the clothing. In seconds, each corpse was just a pile of colored gunk, and even that seemed to be evaporating.
Impressive, isn't it?" Divan says with pride. "I purchased it from a Brazilian artist, who has apparently made a career working in flesh. He claims his artwork is to protest unwinding, but I ask you, how much of a protest can it be if he uses the unwound for his art?