Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Mouldy. 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 Mouldy Quotes And Sayings by 95 Authors including Mary Hughes,Dr. Seuss,Ellen Hopkins,Kevin Barry,Seanan Mcguire for you to enjoy and share.
Since a cold shower wasn't handy, I decided to walk my squishy off. - Nixie
The three words that best describe you are as follows, and I quote: stink. Stank. Stunk.
Holy effing moly.
Wisps of steam like spectral maggots rose from their damp coats in the inn's fuggyheat
Nameless McBitchypants
The dimly lit tunnel smelled of mold and butt - moldy butt.
He was shivering like a Wicklow sheepdog in a snowy yard, though the weather was officially 'clement'.
The first layer of clothing was his jacket, the second his shirt, the third his long-johns, the fourth his share of lice, the fifth his share of fear.
Moll is immoral, shallow, hypocritical, heartless, a bad woman: yet Moll is marvellous.
O scaly, slippery, wet, swift, staring wights, What is 't ye do? what life lead? eh, dull goggles? How do ye vary your vile days and nights? How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but joggles In ceaseless wash? Still nought but gapes and bites, And drinks, and stares, diversified with boggles.
Like a drowning man with a Styrofoam cooler.
I'm like a fungus; you can't get rid of me.
He had a sort of dry musty smell, like a fairly clean Chinaman.
It's expression was solemn, its complexion muddy.
Just thoroughgoingly nasty and sick.
'Mullygrubber' is an Australian term which means something that creeps along the ground; it's like a little grub.
Cheeses crusty, got all musty, got damp on the stone of a peach," I agreed. He looked blank, so I repeated it with proper emphasis. " ChEEZ-zes crusty. Got Al -musty. Got DAMp on the StoneofapeaCH.
I was covered in gore, dripping in slime, and in a very bad mood.
I'm not very domestic. For years my family thought mold was a frosting.
Your place is no different to mine," Gethin said.
"Really?"
"Maybe the pattern of mould on the wall's a bit more
interesting here. Patches of aspergillus, cladosporium and stachybotrys atra.
I had seen the damp lying on the outside of my little window, as if some goblin had been crying there all night, and using the window for a pocket-handkerchief.
The fog comes on little cat feet.
A stocky zombie with curly orange hair
Splendiferous. That's your word. It's yellow with six legs and it's crawling up your arm.
Pompous worm-faced snob-head camel turd.
What kind of maggot grows in the corpse of a day?
Actually, it wasn't bad," Claire said, surprisingly. "Mullein leaves are really very nice; quite as good as two-ply bathroom tissue. And in the winter or indoors, it was usually a bit of damp rag; not very sanitary, but comfortable enough.
Upright, she's slapped with the aroma of musk and sweat. It's the good hunky, 'shirtless man building a dollhouse for his daughter' kind of perspiration, not the 'he just mowed the lawn' kind of stench.
Here, rancid air hangs heavily in a void, its texture thick, liquid, clinging, in a night full of the hot smells of decay.
He has a face like composted Broccoli
God made me and broke the mold.
No sticky till I no longer feel icky, you feel me?
Dorcas, you already reek like a Marseilles cat house; don't wheedle Mike for more stinkum.
The slime of all my yesterdays rots in the hollow of my skull.
I'm not very domestic. For years my children thought mold was a frosting.
It's evening, one of those gray water-color washes, like liquid dust.
Lumpy and lazy; I aspired to lethargy. In the second year of university, I missed half my classes just because I couldn't pull myself out of bed.
His eyes were cold and brown - like coffee stains ...
When I got close to him, he smelled clean and steamy, like a late June-rain. And I was reduced to a ridiculous, blubbering pile of melting Jell-O. Criminy.
that weird sour body odor only monsters have, like a skunk that's been living off Mexican food. Grover
Hopeless. Freak. Elephant. Pitiful
It was just wet, not stinky?
It smelled like Lysol and desperation.
His head was large, globular and oily; it sweated in all weathers; and his large round hat, set upon it sideways, looked like a bulb which had grown out of another.
He's like a demented ferret up a wee drainpipe.
Tall and skinny, with arms and legs sticking out at odd angles, as if [they] were made of drinking straws instead of flesh and bone.
Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment?
Snowy, milky, chalky. A color that is the absence of color. Every morning he ties his shoes, packs newspaper inside his coat as insulation against the cold, and begins interrogating the world.
Cloudiness what is cloudiness, is it a lining, is it a roll, is it melting.
You're obstinate, pliant, merry, morose, all at once. For me there's no living with you, or without you.
Mousse was a Labrador retriever, which is a large enthusiastic bulletproof species of dog made entirely from synthetic materials. This is the kind of dog that, if it takes an interest in your personal regions (which of course it does) you cannot fend it off with a blowtorch.
she opened the lid and was hit with a musty smell she could immediately put a name to: camp. It was an unforgettable combination of mildew, wood smoke and outdoors, an essence that resisted laundering and airing out.
A cesspoolful of rotting monsters behind his slow boyish smile.
Wet catkins fur the twigs of a willow.
A flip dark chill winter bastard though dry
Had pale scanty hair and an earthy skin;
The monster towered ten or twelve feet tall. Its bright green leathery skin was covered in dirt,
moss, leaves, and patches of grass, the stench repulsive. His teeth gleamed brown. Evidently he
wasn't aware of the multitude of whitening products on the market.
Blowed if I ain't all in a muck sweat,' said the Giant, puffing like the largest railway engine. 'Comes of being out of condition. I suppose neither of you young Ladies has such a thing as a pocket-hankerchee about you?
I'm tired, it's raining, and I am not a waterlily.
spills of mire I swallowed inside the tower
Every morning there were silver snail trails crisscrossing the hall. There were cobwebs like soft clouds and pepperings of mold at the windowsills. The moor was coming inside.
Mr. Thomas Marvel hated roomy shoes, but then he hated damp. He had never properly thought out which he hated most
Arty. To me the word's got as much venom associated with it as 'wacky'.
a heavy, hooded wool
Her ruddy brown skin had the texture of pebbled linoleum.
Darkening sea full of stirred silt and clouds of minute
Hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig.
The bathroom was jungle-fogged, flooded with puddles, piled with soaked towels; cakes of soap with long strands of blonde baked in.
A girl in pieces: Barbie-thin ankles, a shaving cut on her knee; hipbones she could stab you with; white hands gelled with strawberry body lotion.
I am a cloud - in trousers.
Dried out and curled up in a ball, me, I am like tea. Waiting to be immersed. Willing to unfold. Wanting to unfurl. Wailing silently to be exposed. Whimpering till that day. It seems I'm wilting and withering away.
All white with snow as if under dustsheets, as if laid away eternally as soon as brought back from the shop, never to be seen or touched
I burn, I freeze; I am never warm. I am rigid; I forgot softness because it did not serve me.
Frumious. Anything that inspires its own adjective is a force to be feared.
He screamed. Mmm?' inquired the gentleman. I ... I would never presume to interrupt you, sir. But the ground appears to be swallowing me up.' It is a bog,' said the gentleman, helpfully. It is certainly a most terrifying substance.
You miserable vomitous mass,
Sick to my motherf****** tummy!
Sick I am of idle words, past all reconciling, Words that weary and perplex and pander and conceal, Wake the sounds that cannot lie, for all their sweet beguiling; The language one need fathom not, but only hear and feel.
She was like a crinkled poppy; with the desire to drink dry dust.
A paunchy man with a face the color of corned beef,
It gets too hot in there after a long test," he told Ehren. "The air gets all squishy." "It's called humidity, Tavi," Ehren said. "I haven't slept in almost two days. It's squishy.
They are quite hopeless - drooling, driveling, doleful, depressing, dropsical drips.
My mate is really, really weird.
She is also absolutely covered in brown, mushy clay.
She laughs and holds a large lump up to show it to me. Her mouth moves, and she makes enough noise to scare away a group of birds near the shore.
She is so, so strange.
I wear not motley in my brain.
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.
Hess laughed. "You know, I thought you were a mousy little thing when I first saw you, Claire, but you're not, are you? Not underneath."
Oh, I am mousy," she said."All this scares the hell out of me. But I don't know what else to do, sir, except try.
Even a mouse bites.
A depressing musty scent pervaded the place, as if a cheese had recently died there in painful circumstances.
I've got to go."
"Go where?"
"To go. I'd have just taken care of it myself, but it looks like you want to come along."
Mott cursed. "Wait for morning."
"Wish I could. I've been cursed with my mother's pea-size bladder.
Like piles of dry wood with red-hot coals underneath.
One word came to mind: pee-yew. Evan tried to place the odor; it wasn't a heap of decayed garbage or that of a spoiled fish. Truth be told, he smelled like rotten cheese.
odor like that of rotting meat permeated
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.
A perspicacious lad, Mr. McLean. A perspicacious swine, indeed.
An odor of June mud, backwashed with essence of meadow-grass and a whiff of cow.
My meal arrived. It was a bowl of tepid, green curried water with two spinach leaves floating in it. The waiter called it 'vegetable soup'. I called it inedible slop.
Snot is running down his nose, greasy fingers, smearing shabby clothes.
Yeah, but I thought mushrooms were a kind of fungus!' Teddy says. 'You know, like mould. You can't get mould growing on mould, can you? It'd be like a weird incestuous fungal party.
a bag of wet farts. But
And you were always nothing but slime, Henry Wallace. Fancy trash
Cold, hungry, scared as hell inside, but too damn brave to admit it.
Very Like a WhaleWhale-- Ogden Nash
A mist rises from a nearby mound. It could be me, that mist, or simply the caretaker's mower-dust. If the breeze blows just right, I'll ghost your solid, entwine your hair. Promise me you won't shampoo, but carry me along, tiny dust-particles of me.