Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Shriveled. 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 Shriveled Quotes And Sayings by 93 Authors including Michael Scott,Alice Hoffman,Laekan Zea Kemp,Gautama Buddha,Steven Erikson for you to enjoy and share.
Everything she touched either crumbled to dust or dissolved into a powder that gave off spores. The
She was disappearing a little more each day, so thin, so frail, a wisp of smoke. One day she would surely vanish altogether, and there was no way to stop her.
He was the color of a hydrangea before it blooms, wilting like one too, every inch of him sunken and bruised.
All too soon this body
Will lie on the ground,
Cast aside, deprived of consciousness,
Like a useless scrap of wood.
Unleavened Bread, all
His brittle, yellowed bones were splintered, crushed and shattered.
If you eat dead, toasted, fried or frozen food, you will feel dead, toasted, fried and frozen.
My legs, arms, torso, underarms, and parts of my eyebrows have been stripped of the stuff, leaving me like a plucked bird, ready for roasting.
Sweetly and subtly perfumed ... so soft it is best eaten with a spoon, a tenderness more appealing to gourmets than to those who have to pick, ship, handle and store it in constant fear of ruinous spoilage.
I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.
There is death.
Making his way through all of it.
On the surface: unflappable, unwavering.
Below: unnerved, untied, and undone.
Strong as stone, supple as a sapling.
Rotten like fish eyes in a barrel.
I feel like the word shatter.
A hundred canes shattered in the sun, like a load of antihistamines falling out of an airplane.
He smelled of moon swamps and old Egyptian bandages. He was something found in museums, wrapped in nicotine linens, sealed in glass. But he was alive, puling like a babe, and shriveling unto death, fast, very fast, before their eyes.
Dead. The words fall from my tongue and linger there like poison. A slow death hanging from my lips. I shake the thought away and swallow but I can still taste the remnants in the back of my throat. It's sour and I gag a little as tears swell behind my eyes.
to describe. It still felt like paper, of course - a medium
A cut scarred where a caress faded away.
Steeped like a teabag in aristocratic pretensions ...
My love is thaw'd; Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, bears no impression of the thing it was
Her body was wrapped in shadows like moth wings, like rose-petals.
hardly had my knife severed the head of each, before the whole body began to melt away and crumble into its native dust, as though the death that should have come centuries ago had at last assert himself and say at once and loud, "I am here!
I grew thinner and more ragged. I slept in rain or sun, on soft grass, moist earth, or sharp stones with an intensity of indifference that only grief can promote.
A face that looked like it had been whittled out of driftwood.
rectangular slab of mincemeat that everyone, including the servers, referred to as baked turd.
A smell of sandalwood boxes, a kind of glaze on the air from all the chintzes numbed his earthy vitality, he became all ribs and uniform.
A foot of steel looks as if it has been transformed into warm butter and gouged by the fingers of a child,
Pretty as a painting, but thorny as a rose.
With all the sweetness of a chocolate-coated razor-blade.
Cold, like swallowed tears.
Pre-Digested', that almost
abysmally beshitted.
But there was in the air that kind of distortion that bent you a little; it caused your usual self to grow slippery, to wander off and shop, to get blurry, bleed, bevel with possibility.
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to kill
The thin
Papery feeling.
From the poem "Cut", 24 October 1962
The hard thin body of my childhood was just beginning to miraculously soften like the cracked ground of wadi when rain falls.
He lay in his stony crypt like his own corpse, hardly breathing, his heart hardly beating - and yet lived as intensively and dissolutely as ever a rake had lived in the wide world outside.
in mushy, wet oatmeal. "Are
I felt dull and flat and full of shattered visions.
Dead. Never been that before. Not even once.
A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind.
You were a crushed and broken thing, like a butterfly crumpled in the hand of a child.
I feel like a potato that's recently been mashed,she said.
The grass was tall and parched, the limbs of the trees barren or else dotted with a few remaining leaves, the stragglers, bleached to the color of bone. They lifted in the breeze like waving hands, rustling like old paper.
Words today are like the shells and rope of seaweed which a child brings home glistening from the beach and which in an hour have lost their luster.
As if he had turned into one of those sarcophagi lined with bristling nails. He wanted to flee himself, unshackle himself from the excruciating substance he was made of, but he was trapped inside the martyred flesh.
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.
Forever encased in the amber of a writer's prose.
All sliced up and sealed tight in baggies. Guess love makes you do funny things.
They were like a firecracker that had burned up. The pretty picture, the sparkling moment was gone; they were just smoke and ashes now.
Frightfully pale and perpetually odd
you feel like a field of sugar canes after the harvest - burnt out, all cutting edges with no sweetness left inside.
She was like a crinkled poppy; with the desire to drink dry dust.
Rough as a badger's arse
Days rotted away, disintegrating as each hour ticked by.
ANIENTED (A'NIENTED) adj.[anneantir, Fr.]Frustrated; brought to nothing.
Bent
like the branches of a tree
broken
like the pieces of my heart
cracked
like the seventeenth moon
shattered
like the glass in the window
the day we met
Faded the flower and all its budded charms,Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise!Vanishd unseasonably
I felt like a piece of glass, shattered and scattered all over. I didn't know who or what I was anymore, but I glittered prettily in the spotlight. I
The words were low, more shape than breath.
I've become saucy.Saucy-- Emma Bunton
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
Hunger was shred into atomics in every farthing porringer of husky chips of potato, fried with some reluctant drops of oil.
Pressed caviar has the consistency of chilled tar.
Sharp. Intense. Powerful. Intoxicating.
Just like Killian.
Damn it all.
Before she could stop herself, Sadie took an involuntary step back.
Killian countered, taking one step closer, and his lips tilted into a lopsided grin.
Shit on a stick.
How annoying.
One shard of brilliant summer pierced me
and remains.
By this only
unregenerate bone
I am not dead, but waiting.
Slowly, quietly, like snow-flakes - like the small flakes that come when it is going to snow all night
- little flakes of me, my impressions, my selections, are settling down on the image of her. The real shape wil be quite hidden in the end.
Their beauty had always seemed to him like the beauty of pressed flowers-lovely, but dead.
She looked the way a rose petal looks when you crush it between finger and thumb.
Gone. Vanished. Nothing left. Nothing said.
You're toast."
I felt like toast, burning with anger inside my waterproof layers. "I am not," I insisted. "I might be lightly browned on one side.
As though it had come to the top of the hill and gone over a precipice,
Abruptly feeling as if his tongue were too thick for his mouth.
There was an air of decay that enveloped the property as if it had been kissed by dead lips glossed with mildew.
Dead.
Even in the silence of my mind I cannot think the word. I cannot acknowledge this most obvious and terrible of truths.
. . . a shrunken old man, squashed into the chair like a stubbed-out cigarette.
Sooner or later, even the sharpest pain became flattened.
From being used so much, kneaded with sweat and sighs, the air in the room had begun to turn to mud.
A cut. That's what I felt. Words can cut, slice, like a razor.
She felt ... less. She felt tamped down. Dim. More faint. Feint. Feigned. Fain.
My mind is turning into kind of a fine gelatinous ball of pepper
The seen, the known, dissolve in iridescence, become illusive flesh of light that was not, was, forever is.
...quickly, he was eaten by the shadows.
it was a delusive pie, the crust being like a disappointing head, phrenologically speaking: full of lumps and bumps, with nothing particular underneath.
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.
Whacked away under the desk like hail on a barn roof.
They made me so smooth like porcelain. Inside I was broken glass. Every fragment was piercing me sharp. At every breath, I felt I was imploding.
Sometimes I think I'm liquefying like an old Camembert.
The salt hung on his spirit like a frost,
The dead brine melted in him like a dew
Of winter, until nothing of himself
Remained, except some starker, barer self
In a starker, barer world, in which the sun
Was not the sun because it never shone
With bland complaisance ...
I'd dismembered it in my memories. I'd disremembered it.
Immediately i felt my body crumbling, shaking so fast that the very atoms of my being seemed to dissolve, and then i was dissolving too, my emotions shattering me, unitl there was nothing left of me but silver dust- and a final longing stare of awe,of passion, of love.
The last dead leaves of fall crackled underfoot, winter-crisp.
All the things paper-thin and paper-frail, and all the people too.
Next to him lay his violin, trampled, an eerily poignant little corpse.
Beautifully wrapped. She reached for her tape, pulled the end - and got the sliver left on the roll.
Unhealthy to the point of diseased, he'd say - he had caught something from her, some decay transmitted from soul to soul, but then he recollected contemptuously that by her own admittance she lacked a soul. At the intersection ahead they could see
I am tarred and feathered with Time.
Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing, eyes the color of rotting squash.
All of it was ashes now: the smooth wood, the soft edges, the memory of his hands.
I am in a very unsettled condition, as the oyster said when they poured melted butter all over his back.