People are worms, and even the God who created them is immensely bored with their antics.
It is the timber of poetry that wears most surely, and there is no timber that has not strong roots among the clay and worms.
Life is hard. Then you die. Then they throw dirt in your face. Then the worms eat you. Be grateful it happens in that order.
The message is not so much that the worms will inherit the Earth, but that all things play a role in nature, even the lowly worm.
In the early '90s, we discovered mutations that could double the normal life span of worms.
I can open up any can of worms and get people upset.
Kill the snake of doubt in your soul, crush the worms of fear in your heart and mountains will move out of your way.
Horror fans need horror, okay? They don't need little worms squirming around going down your throat. To them, that's not horror.
Just under the surface I shall be, all together at first, then separate and drift, through all the earth and perhaps in the end through a cliff into the sea, something of me. A ton of worms in an acre, that is a wonderful thought, a ton of worms, I believe it.
If the aging process is controlled in a similar way in worms and humans, then we can use what we learn about worms to speed our study of higher organisms.