Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Composted. 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 Composted Quotes And Sayings by 98 Authors including David Whyte,Frank A. Clark,Art Linkletter,Caitlin Doughty,David Suzuki for you to enjoy and share.
No matter the self-conceited importance of our labors we are all compost for worlds we cannot yet imagine.
When a man eats his words, that's recycling.
A finished product is one that has already seen its better days.
pickled in formaldehyde and painted like a whore, / Shrimp-pink incorruptible, not lost or gone before.
In nature there is no such thing as waste. In nature nothing is wasted; everything is recycled.
One man's trash is another man's treasure, and the by-product from one food can be perfect for making another.
Bread has been made (indifferent) from potatoes;
And galvanism has set some corpses grinning,
But has not answer'd like the apparatus
Of the Humane Society's beginning,
By which men are unsuffocated gratis:
What wondrous new machines have late been spinning.
We cannibalized this bike as much as we could've.
The past is in the wastebasket.
All sliced up and sealed tight in baggies. Guess love makes you do funny things.
The past was finished; let the dead bury their dead.
It sheared off heads so many, that it, and the ground it most polluted, were a rotten red. It was taken to pieces, like a toy-puzzle for a young Devil, and was put together again when the occasion wanted it.
Seasoned life of man preserved and stored up in books.
The manuscript in the drawer either rots or ripens.
To waste! You are unknown and unwanted, save by me. This, because you are fairly adept at the various embalming arts and you occasionally compose a clever epitaph.
Our bodies were trash.
We leave them on the shore.
After carrying and collecting like the ant, Enjoy-before the grave worm devours thee.
Manuscript: something submitted in haste and returned at leisure.
Whacked away under the desk like hail on a barn roof.
I'm an environmentalist; I recycle.
The earth is expertly designed to take back what it has created. Bodies left for carrion in enclosed, regulated spaces could be the answer to the environmental problems of burial and cremation. There is no limit to where our engagement with death can take us.
Lovely flowers have been known to grow out of trash heaps.
gone, you see, yet finding
Properly buried."
"Properly kept."
"That is the way with witches."
"And with all things.
If it's in the bin, it's public property.
A food waste reduction hierarchy-feeding people first, then animals, then recycling, then composting-serves to show how productive use can be made of much of the excess food that is currently contributing to leachate and methane formation in landfills.
All too soon this body
Will lie on the ground,
Cast aside, deprived of consciousness,
Like a useless scrap of wood.
Buried and burned. Never find them. Never. Buried and buried.
Dead, we become the lumber of the world, And to that mass of matter shall be swept Where things destroyed with things unborn are kept.
Did you know you just put the peel in the pan and the potatoes down the waste disposal?' he enquired with interest.
'It's a new recipe.'
His lips twitched but his expression remained solemn. 'The results should be...interesting.
Dead fields under a November sky, scattered rose petals brown and turning up at the edges, empty pools scummed with algae, rot, decomposition, dust ...
When you're through with your cat, you can't throw it in the trash.
I've been buried alive!
Though no one had been buried here for almost thirty years, the grass was mown by yours truly. I felt a tidy graveyard made a happy graveyard.
What if people knew they were recycled? Would that change anything?
toilet-papered your house!
Old gardeners never die; they just very slowly turn into the most magnificent compost. But what a marvellous, active brew it is!
Often immitated, but never duplicated!
Garbage Is, always. We will die, civilization will crumble, life as we know it will cease to exist, but trash will endure, and there it was on the street, our ceaselessly erected, ceaselessly broken cenotaphs to ephemera and disconnection and unquenchable want.
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.
Oh! Old rubbish! Old letters, old clothes, old objects that one does not want to throw away. How well nature has understood that, every year, she must change her leaves, her flowers, her fruit and her vegetables, and make manure out of the mementos of her year!
Insects are major players in nature's recycling effort, and in nature a corpse is simply organic matter to be recycled. Left to its own devices, nature quickly populates a corpse with a diverse community of organisms, all dedicated to reducing the body to its basic components.
He's picked clean! Eaten by cats!
Waste is also not waste, it can be recycled
Never plant without a bucket of compost at your side.
There is also, in any history, the buried, the wasted, and the lost.
Are you green and growing or ripe and rotting?
If it gathers dust, give it away ...
"Solid wastes" are the discarded leftovers of our advanced consumer society. This growing mountain of garbage and trash represents not only an attitude of indifference toward valuable natural resources, but also a serious economic and public health problem.
refuse what you do not need; reduce what you do need; reuse what you consume; recycle what you cannot refuse, reduce, or reuse; and rot (compost) the rest.
I started composting in 1970 by taking my food scraps out behind where I lived and burying them in a hole next to the railroad tracks - and green things started to grow there!
I'm an environmentalist. Most of my jokes are recycled.
It's dead nice to know I've achieved something.
Producing quality compost is the most important job on the organic farm. A lot of the problems I see on farms I visit could be solved by making better compost.
Carefully they replaced the soil and covered the entire grave with uprooted grass.
Neither one had spoken a word.
What I created got abominated.
A work of art is never finished. It is merely abandoned.
People lived their lives, carelessly dropping information as if it were trash. The writer moved behind them like a ragpicker. She cleaned and separated their garbage, culled and collected it.
The most valuable land in the world is the graveyard. In the graveyard are buried all of the unwritten novels, never-launched businesses, unreconciled relationships, and all of the other things that people thought, 'I'll get around to that tomorrow.' One day, however, their tomorrows ran out.
What's for dinner?"
"Roast beef. I heard it was a woman's body buried on Hamilton Ranch and that her body had been mummified."
"Roast beef and mummified should never be used in the same sentence," he joked as he headed toward the refrigerator for a beer.
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.
Burned over water.
Simple, like uncarved wood.
A simple pecking order has always characterized mankind's relationship to waste: The wealthy throw out what they do not want, the poor scavenge what they can, and whatever remains is left to rot.
You would think I would recycle by the way I found my last chick ... cause all she wants is paper or plastic.
We have buried the putrid corpse of liberty
Responsible murder is the new recycling.
Your garbage, transformed, is your gift.
Do we smell nothing as yet of the divine decomposition? Gods, too, decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him.
Soul rotted before my eyes.
Every cat knows some things need to be buried.
You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You are the same decaying, organic matter as everyone else, and we are all part of the same compost pile.
Consumerism has accustomed us to waste. But throwing food away is like stealing it from the poor and hungry.
Over. Done. Gone.-- Wen Spencer
Done is better than perfect if perfect ain't done.
The inmates of the second ward in the right wing have decided, at long last, to bury their dead, at least we shall be rid of that particular stench, the smell of the living, however fetid, will be easier to get used to.
Given in love. Defiled by remorse.
Done and over with ... weeding is a must, it's necessary!
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.
Marian and I saw products as garbage even when they sat gleaming on store shelves, yet unbought. We didn't say, What kind of casserole will that make? We said, What kind of garbage will that make?
Everything before you passed and went to waste.
Waste is Criminal.
When coming in to land at Santiago, Chile, I saw the area between the city and the Andes mountains was smoking with rubbish dumps. While exploring the dumps, I made friends with people living and working there and saw how they survived through recycling the rubbish.
In consumer life we become what we consume-disposable junk to be used and thrown away.
What's more important than recycling? Producing something to recycle.
Today, they're just up there for the money, just packaged and be gone.
It's in a can. It's good forever.
We [people] may enjoy this fleeting beauty [of life] for such a brief instance. And then we are compost. G - , the creator-destroyer, certainly has a strange sense of humor!
Not everything buried is actually dead. For many, the past is alive.
With timid curiosity, I asked, what do you mean the old bodies get reused?
excoriated and burned, mapped and measured and meted
Hardly anything is as exciting or as diverse, as strong a confirmation of life and hope and the universe's urge towards creativity, as a lively compost heap or the first draft of a novel.
A book which is left on a shelf is a dead thing but it is also a chrysalis, an inanimate object packed with the potential to burst into new life.
You know you're writing well when you're throwing good stuff into the wastebasket.
Everything is mended by the soil.
I had always suspected that one could build an entire house from what went into the landfill, and, sure enough, it's true.
Eaten bread is forgotten.
The plowing's done. The seed is spread. The weather is reminding me that, rain or shine, the earth abides, the land endures, the soil will persevere forever and a day. Its smell is pungent and high-seasoned. This is happiness.
Brought it back to her desk to go over her research for the next
Don't go to the grave with your best work still inside of you. Die empty.