Quotes About Legacy

Nietzsche had the Latin pun aut liberi, aut libri—either children or books, both information that carries through the centuries.

We inherited the taste for uncalculated risk taking. Should we encourage such behavior?

He will die with the impression of having done nothing useful.

In their aftermath, who got the recognition?

history belongs to those who can write about it (whether winners or losers)

Empirically, if you want an author to cross a few generations

The future is in the past.

he who does not have a past has no future.6

When he blew up, close to a couple of decades of performance were overshadowed by a single event that only lasted a few minutes.

Read nothing from the past one hundred years; eat no fruits from the past one thousand years; drink nothing from the past four thousand years (just wine and water); but talk to no ordinary man over forty. A man without a heroic bent starts dying at the age of thirty.

Things that have worked for a long time are preferable - they are more likely to have reached their ergodic states. At the worst, we don't know how long they'll last.

Nykyaika: loimme nuoruuden ilman sankaruutta, iän ilman viisautta ja elämän ilman loistoa.

la muerte a menudo es un buen paso profesional para el escritor).

Frédéric Dard, Libanius Antiochus, Michael Oakeshott, John Gray, Ammianus Marcellinus, Ibn Battuta, Saadia Gaon, or Joseph de Maistre; he

Il mio mestiere è scrivere delle storie, cose inventate o cose che ricordo della mia vita ma comunque storie, cose dove non c'entra la cultura ma soltanto la memoria e la fantasia. Questo è il mio mestiere, e io lo farò fino alla morte

Munch está muerto desde hace tiempo, como pintor, le sobrevive un viejecito limpio y modesto, que pinta malos cuadros y que tal vez ha encontrado la salud en la mediocridad.

I'm not exactly sure what I'd do, you know but something interesting - something that's all mine something that would make some kind of difference in the world.

You've got nothing that lasts, you know. That's not the first town that ever stood there. There was one before that, and one before that, and one before that one, on back for 900 years. But this tree has stood here all along. What do you make of that, boy?

Nuestros libros, en cuanto dejan nuestras manos, tienen vida propia.

right now,I am my father

what knowledge haunts each body, what history, what phantom ache?

What's left is palimpsest—one memory bleeding into another, overwriting it.

I returned to a field of cotton, hallowed ground — as slave legend goes — each boll holding the ghosts of generations: those who measured their days by the heft of sacks and lengths of rows, whose sweat flecked the cotton plants still sewn into our clothes.

The yoke of my birth