Quotes About Legacy

We are all products of our upbringings, Primale. The constructions that result from our choices are laid upon the foundation set by our parents and their parents before them. We are but the next level in the house or paver in the path.

A warrior! 'Tis a warrior!" Hharm's heart beat hard, his triumph thundering in his ears. "My son shall carry forth my name! He shall be known as Hharm as I was before he!" The

Vuoi sapere cos'è la morte? Te lo dico io cos'è.... la morte è la vita che si dimentica di te! Come profumi e che aspetto hai, che suono ha la tua voce, come ridi! Anche se c'è una vita dopo la morte, la mia morte sarà tu che vai avanti Senza di me fino a che non ti ricorderai più di che colore sono i miei occhi o quanto lunghi sono i miei capelli.... Le Ombre by J.R.Ward

I think Disney would have accepted this movie if Walt Disney were still alive. Walt Disney not only had vision, but he was also an extremely adventurous person. He wasn't afraid.

No matter how long gone, you'll always be here. A heartbeat close. A whisper's near.

There are things we don't do. From this moment forth, let us all ensure our every action reflects well on us and our ancestors. Let us live to the highest standards, lest we win this war only to find ourselves staring in the mirror at the face of our late enemy.

If the people of Old Earth, our ancestors and their descendants today who remain, could keep building, could keep trying, how can we do less? We are their children, and while we bought to the stars with us all the faults and the problems and the flaws of the past, we also bought the good things, the determination, and the willingness to help others, and the imagination to build things greater then every shortcoming humanity has ever known.

The Clinton era was a turning point in the history of journalism.

Jonathan Turley was even more blunt in his assessment: "Barack Obama is really the president Richard Nixon always wanted to be.

I saw my father's wooden filing cabinet, his framed diplomas stacked on top of it, just as they'd been brought from his office. In that cabinet lay records of the colds, cut fingers, cancers, broken bones, mumps, diphtheria, births and deaths of a large part of Mill Valley for over two generations. Half the patients listed in those files were dead now, the wounds and tissue my father had treated only dust.

I'm going to marry my novels and have little short stories for children.

I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life, but that great consciousness of life.

Vanity of vanities… all is vanity.' You kill yourself to get to the grave. Especially you kill yourself to get to the grave before you die; and the name of the grave is 'success', the name of that grave is hullabullo boom boom horseshit.

Praised be I, writing, dead already and dead again

Who has believed in the world and died with its name on his lips?

Qué será de nosotros cuando muramos?- Le pregunte en cierta ocasión. - Cuando uno se muere se muere, eso es todo - respondió.

ve kimse ama kimse bilmiyor kimseye yaÅŸlanman?n periÅŸan süprüntülerinden baÅŸka ne olaca??n?; ve ben Neal Cassady'yi an?yorum ve an?yorum, hatta asla bulamad???m?z yaÅŸl? babas? Neal Cassady'yi; ve Neal Cassady'yi an?yorum. Neal Cassady'yi an?yorum.

Dean took out other pictures. I realized these were all the snapshots which our children would look at someday with wonder, thinking their parents had lived smooth, well-ordered, stabilized-within-the-photo lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming the raggedy madness and riot of our actual lives, or actual night, the hell of it, the senseless nightmare road.

Writing down these fantastic inanities actually but yet I felt I had to do it because James Joyce wasnt about to do it now he was dead

In this manner had fought forgotten ancestors. They quickened the old life within him, the old tricks which they had stamped into the heredity of the breed were his tricks... And when, on the still cold nights, he pointed his nose at a star and howled long and wolflike, it was his ancestors, dead and dust, pointing nose at star and howling down through the centuries and through him.

woe of unnumbered generations

Why should I and the beauty in me be ruled by the dead? Beauty is alive and everlasting. Languages come and go. They are the dust of the dead.

I'd rather be ashes than dust

Jack London (January 12, 1876 – November 22, 1916), was an American author who wrote The Call of the Wild and other books. A pioneer in the then-burgeoning world of commercial magazine fiction, he was one of the first Americans to make a huge financial success from writing. Source: Wikipedia