Quotes About Legacy

People who make history know nothing about history. You can see that in the sort of history they make.

Tradition means giving votes to the most obscure of all classes, our ancestors. It is the democracy of the dead. Tradition refuses to submit to that arrogant oligarchy who merely happen to be walking around.

Tradition means giving votes to the most obscure of all classes -- our ancestors. It is the democracy of the dead. Tradition refuses to submit to the small and arrogant oligarchy of those who merely happen to be walking around.

We all have a little weakness, which is very natural but rather misleading, for supposing that this epoch must be the end of the world because it will be the end of us. How future generations will get on without us is indeed, when we come to think of it, quite a puzzle. But I suppose they will get on somehow, and may possibly venture to revise our judgments as we have revised earlier judgments

When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me;

Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree; Be the green grass above me With showers and dew drops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale

Joshua was trembling, for he knew what lay before him, and he wanted to cry out and run after the man who had been his master for so many years. But he knew he must not. At last the figure disappeared in the distance so that even the keenest-eyed Israelite could not see him. And then Joshua turned to Caleb, tears streaming down his face. "Never again," he whispered, "will we see a man like Moses!

Tu t'efforces d'alimenter la passion charnelle et ruses pour grappiller quelque argent, alors que tu oublies l'obscurité qui t'entourera dans ton tombeau et ne songes pas à ce qui t'adviendra ensuite.

Realising that Mauritius could be a valuable port of call for Dutch ships Heemskerck put a rooster and some hens ashore and planted orange and lemon seeds, invoking 'the Almighty God's blessing that He may lend His power to make them multiply and grow for the benefit of those who will visit the island after us'.

The dead are silenced and the living are speechless.Who's going to tell their stories if I don't?

His son shall call himself the King of Kings, heir to the Empire of Cyrus. He shall raise this child from the ashes and give her pride.' 'But beware! For the King of Kings shall fall, and his throne shall crumble, and the men of God shall paint the skies of the nation with blood.' She held the child up, against the light, and gave her a name: 'Peacock.

If your father was just an ordinary father and told everybody he had no son, people would call him a liar. But if your father was famous for all the saints he was making and said he had no son, then he had no son, period.

Lice breeds lice, and sin breeds sin.

How do we measure a life's worth? In laughter? In orgasms? In money? In how often we have been photographed? In children borne or raised? In the number of continents on which we have made love? In number of books published? In latest versions of iPads and iPhones? In jazz albums filling a giant trunk in the basement? In years? We are all specks of dust against the specter of Time. Is ninety years so different from forty in the scheme of things? We are all the walking dead of history.

But our children are never ours. We belong to them, but they belong to themselves. They belong to people not yet born.

The dirt is coming for us all as we free-fall. This much I know: that eventually, we all have to start screaming well before we hit the ground, so the women below us will understand when to scatter, when to take cover, when it is safe to come back outside and try again to change the world. So that future generations will know, from the echo of our voices, never to stop watching the sky.

We are all specks of dust against the specter of Time. Is ninety years so different from forty in the scheme of things? We are all the walking dead of history.

The greatest lesson we teach our children is how to survive us.

When somebody dies thinking you are someone you haven't been in years—someone you maybe never were to begin with—what parts of your identity, real and constructed, do the dead take with them?

There is so much more to my father's life and death than how it impacted, reflected on, or revealed me.

Nuestra herencia de tambores batientes ha de continuar latiendo en la sangre de estas generaciones. Es lo único, Yarince, que permaneció: la resistencia.

Credidit ut Clmabos picturæ castra tenere Sic tenuit vivens, nunc tenet astra poli.

In that dark night which shrouds from our eyes the most remote antiquity, a light appears which cannot lead us astray; I speak of this incontestable truth: the social world is certainly the work of man.

A questa città vorrei dire: gli uomini passano, le idee restano. Restano le loro tensioni morali e continueranno a camminare sulle gambe di altri uomini.»