Quotes About Legacy

She'd lived almost an entire life, but had accomplished nothing extraordinary. She'd made no permanent mark on the world, nor would she ever, but if love was all that really mattered, she understood that she'd been singularly blessed. She decided to rest

As nossas vidas não podem ser medidas pelos nossos anos finais,[...]

On and on they went these nevers, but despite their random natures I found myself following almost every one perhaps bc I never wanted to disappoint my father. His voice even now follows me now on this longest of rides this thing called life.

My father finally died a month before he turned 101, his license

Nadie ha erigido un monumento en mi honor y mi nombre pronto caerá en el olvido, pero he amado a una persona con toda el alma, y con eso me basta.

A mi modo de entender, todo hombre debería morir como ha vivido; en sus últimos momentos, debería estar rodeado y reconfortado por aquellas personas a las que siempre ha querido.

Each death is as unique as each life.

Printed books usually outlive bookstores and the publishers who bought them out. They sit around, demanding nothing, for decades. That's one of their nicest qualities -- their brute persistence.

Why isn't the pioneer of perforation chiseled into the façades of libraries, along with Locke, Franklin, and the standard bunch of French Encyclopedists?

Everything he did, as long as you stayed in the village, whether shouting obscenities at passing children or sleeping in the cemetery, all would be remembered when they looked at you, they would say to themselves or to whomever they were with, It's his father, you know, the crazy one, the drunk, and they couldn't help but wonder what part of his madness had passed on to you, which part you had escaped.

The truth about life was that nothing ever ended until you died, and even then you just left a whole bunch of unresolved narratives behind you.

We're here for such a short amount of time. Why do we spend any of it building sandcastles?

They already knew that they would be telling people about the morning for a long time to come, maybe for the rest of their lives, and the taxi ride was the first attempt at a first draft of a story that would have to satisfy parents, siblings, children, and grandchildren.

The truth about life was that nothing ever ended until you died, and even then you just left a whole bunch of unresolved narratives behind you. He

If you beget a monster of a child it could prove you were rather monstrous yourself.

Even the dead had names.

Memory is a funny thing. Makes you remember things that didn't really happen and forget things that did. I'm so scared I'll forget because if I forget all these things that happened then there will be no one on earth who remembers them. And if they're forgotten it's like they never happened. No one can prove it. Some writer said that people become our memories of them. So I guess if no one remembers you, then you weren't really here. - almost him

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

The Invisible mom: "As mothers, we are BUILDING great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will MARVEL, not only at what we have built, but at the BEAUTY that has been added to the world by the SACRIFICES of invisible women.

Perhaps that is what it means to be a father-to teach your child to live without you.

When they write my obituary. Tomorrow. Or the next day. It will say, Leo Gursky is survived by an apartment full of shit

At times I believed that the last page of my book and the last page of my life were one and the same, that when my book ended I'd end, a great wind would sweep through my rooms carrying the pages away, and when the air cleared of all those fluttering white sheets the room would be silent, the chair where I sat empty.

THE DEATH OF LEOPOLD GURSKY Leopold Gursky started dying on August 18, 1920. He died learning to walk. He died standing at the blackboard. And once, also, carrying a heavy tray. He died practicing a new way to sign his name. Opening a window. Washing his genitals in the bath. He died alone, because he was too embarrassed to phone anyone. Or he died thinking about Alma. Or when he chose not to.

These things are lost to oblivion like so much about so many who are born and die without anyone taking the time to write it all down. That Litvinoff had a wife who was so devoted is, to be frank, the only reason anyone knows anything about him at all.