I used to be Snow White, but I drifted. — Mae West
I used to be Snow White, but I drifted. — Mae West
I used to be Snow White, but I drifted. — Mae West
I used to be Snow White, but I drifted. — Mae West
I used to be Snow White, but I drifted. — Mae West
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I used to be Snow White, but I drifted.

— Mae West
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More “Decadence” Quotes

I have no idea how long Quisser was gone from the table. My attention became fully absorbed by the other faces in the cl — Thomas Ligotti, The Nightmare Factory
Destructive and irresponsible freedom has been granted boundless space. Society appears to have little defense against t — Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
The Devil pulls the strings which make us dance;We find delight in the most loathsome things;Some furtherance of Hell ea — Charles Baudelaire
The mirror's light sparks in the eyes,And horrified, my lids drawn tight,I step back to that realm of nightWhere not a s — Alexander Blok, The Silver Age of Russian Culture: An Anthology
Later, Aldapuerta spent two years at medical school where he learned the geography of the human body and something of it — Jesus I. Aldapuerta, The Eyes: Emetic Fables from the Andalusian de Sade
There is nothing to be found in human eyes, and that is their terrifying and dolorous enigma, their abominable and delus — Jean Lorrain, Monsieur De Phocas
Decadent cooks go one step further and make sculptures of the food itself. If life is to be spent in pursuit of the extr — Medlar Lucan, The Decadent Cookbook
The pleasure of being a scoundrel can be adequately savored in silence. — Rémy de Gourmont, The Angels of Perversity
Cavenaugh rubbed his hands together and smiled his sunny smile.'I like that idea. It's reassuring. If we can have no sec — Willa Cather, American Fantastic Tales: Terror and the Uncanny from Poe to the Pulps
He asked her, 'Why do you feel sorry for me, Old Woman?'The Old Woman stood beside him and looked out the window at the — Valery Bryusov, The Silver Age of Russian Culture: An Anthology
The Old Woman asked, "Here you are, dear Youth, you are looking at the Garden and do not know that it is an evil Garden. — Valery Bryusov, The Silver Age of Russian Culture: An Anthology
Here, in Lorrain's poisoned little jewel of a tale (“The Man Who Made Wax Heads”) the consummate achievement of decadent — Jennifer Birkett