Quotes About Legacy

Comfort me by a solemn Assurance, that when the little Parlour in which I sit at this Instant, shall be reduced to a worse furnished Box, I shall be read, with Honour, by those who never knew nor saw me, and whom I shall neither know nor see.

As Morris R. Cohen has remarked: "The notion that we can dismiss the views of all previous thinkers surely leaves no basis for the hope that our own work will prove of any value to others."1

La generación actual tiene el priviliegio, que no tuvo ninguna otra, de contar con ese ingente acervo intelectual.

La generación actual tiene el privilegio, que no tuvo ninguna otra, de contar con ese ingente acervo intelectual.

When I met Jimmy Burke in 1964, he practically owned New York's Kennedy Airport. If you ask me, they named the place after the wrong Irishman.

It takes a great deal of history to produce a little literature.

I suspect that the age of letters is waning, for our time. It is the age of Panama Canals, of Sandra Bernhardt, of Western wheat raising, of merely material expansion. Art, form, may return, but I doubt I shall live to see them--I don't believe they are as eternal as the poets say.

Wasn't history full of the destruction of precious things?

A tradition is kept alive only by something being added to it.

She's a contemporary of the Medici; she must have been present at the burning of Savonarola, and I'm not sure she didn't throw a handful of chips into the flame.

She wouldn't remember that at a certain corner I had stopped to pick up her hairpin, or that, when I bent down to tie her laces, I remarked the spot on which her foot had rested and that it would remain there forever, even after the cathedrals had been demolished and the whole Latin civilization wiped out forever and ever.

They were alive and they spoke to me! That is the simplest and most eloquent way in which I can refer to those authors who have remained with me over the years.

Kesin olan tek ÅŸey ÅŸudur: öldüÄŸünde ve dirildiÄŸinde topraÄŸa aitsindir ve topraÄŸa dair ne varsa devredilemez bir biçimde senindir. DoÄŸan?n bir cilvesine dönüÅŸürsün, gölgesiz bir varl??a; bir daha asla ölmeyecek, fakat etraf?ndaki bütün olaylar gibi gelip geçeceksin.

Everything American will disappear one day. More completely than that which was Greek, or Roman, or Egyptian. This is one of the ideas which pushed me outside the warm, comfortable bloodstream, where buffalos all, we once grazed in peace. An idea which has caused me infinite sorrow. For not to belong to something enduring is the last agony.

The cancer of time is eating us away. Our heroes have killed themselves, or are killing themselves. The hero, then, is not Time, but Timelessness.

To me without Dostoievsky's work there would be a deep, black hole in world literature. The loss of Shakespeare, who must seem like a wild man to the Chinese, would not be as great as losing Dostoievsky.

There will always be a cunt or a revolution around the corner, but the mother who bore me turned many a corner and made no answer, and finally she turned herself inside out and I am the answer.

En el mejor de los casos, la vida es fugaz y pasa rápidamente. Lo que hacemos en el tiempo breve que Dios nos concede sobre la Tierra es lo que nos sigue a la eternidad. Bienaventurados los que invierten bien su tiempo, cumplen su propósito divino y reciben la recompensa prometida.

Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time

Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again.

Ah! What would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before.

He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.

Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sand of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solenm main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.

Great men die and are forgotten, Wise men speak; their words of wisdom Perish in the ears that hear them, Do not reach the generations That, as yet unborn, are waiting In the great, mysterious darkness Of the speechless days that shall be!