I tried body surfing once, but how often do you find a corpse?
With Corpse Bride, I saw a lot more of it during the process because we were changing things a lot. When I came onto Corpse Bride, it wasn't a musical.
He who protests is an enemy; he who opposes is a corpse.
And if you say a word about this over the radio, the next wings you see will belong to the flies buzzing over your rotting corpse.
To deprive a gregarious creature of companionship is to maim it, to outrage its nature. The prisoner and the cenobite are aware that the herd exists beyond their exile; they are an aspect of it. But when the herd no longer exists, there is, for the herd creature, no longer entity, a part of no whole; a freak without a place. If he cannot hold on to his reason, then he is lost indeed; most utterly, most fearfully lost, so that he becomes no more than the twitch in the limb of a corpse.
In the Netherlands I read the first chapter of Exquisite Corpse to an audience that laughed in all the places I thought were funny - an experience I've never had in America!
I would like to think that no one would die anymore if we all believed in daisies but the worms know better, don't they? They slide into the ear of a corpse and listen to his great sigh.
We cannot carry our father's corpse with us everywhere we go.
I hope you die. . . . P. S. If you do die, I'm going to go to the funeral and finger your corpse.
As the saying goes, I want to be the best-looking corpse there is.
What is man but a little soul holding up a corpse?
An 'almost gospel' doesn't raise a corpse.
One corpse in a well destroys the viability of the well.
The corpse of friendship is not worth embalming.
One can't carry one's father's corpse about everywhere.
A dead martyr is just another corpse.
Liberty is no longer the virgin, chaste and severe, to be fought for. . . we have buried the putrid corpse of liberty. . . the Italian people are a race of sheep.
The decay of society is praised by artists as the decay of a corpse is praised by worms.
Religion exalts mystery as an unknowable secret that must be sealed in glass like the corpse of an enchanted princess and fearfully worshipped from afar. Initiation, on the other hand, requires direct participation and demands each of us to smash the casket and press mad lips to mystery, wooing her as a lover who will offer up her treasurers in a succession of sweet surrenders. This she will do, but only in exact ratio to our evolving ability and worthiness to receive them.
I don't know. . . there's something kind of beautiful about it, don't you think? That we keep living and growing even though our world is a corpse? That we keep coming back no matter how many of us die?
