Quotes About Legacy

That can happen when people die, the argument with them drops away and people so flawed while they were drawing breath that at times they were all but unbearable now assert themselves in the most appealing way, and what was least to your liking the day before yesterday becomes in the limousine behind the hearse a cause not only for sympathetic amusement but for admiration

The legend engraved on the face of the Jewish nickel– on the body of every Jewish child!– not IN GOD WE TRUST, but SOMEDAY YOU'LL BE A PARENT AND YOU'LL KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE.

Everyone thinks at some time or other that in a hundred years no one now alive will be on earth - the overwhelming force will sweep the place clean.

His mother had died at eighty, his father at ninety. Aloud he said to them, I'm seventy-one. Your boy is seventy-one. Good. You lived, his mother replied, and his father said, Look back and atone for what you can atone for, and make the best of what you have left.

One's story isn't a skin to be shed— it's inescapable, one's body and blood. You go on pumping it out till you die, the story veined with the themes of your life, the ever-recurring story that's at once your invention and the invention of you.

It was puzzling to own trees - they were not owned the way a business os owned or even a house is owned. If anything, they were held in trust. In trust. Yes, for all of posterity,...

ero una biografia in moto perpetuo, memoria sino al midollo delle ossa.

Waarom zou ik behoefte hebben aan een monument in mijn naam terwijl er op straat zo'n feestbanket rondloopt?

Three generations. All of them growing. The working. The saving. The success. Three generations in raptures over America. Three generations of becoming one with a people. And now with the fourth it had all come to nothing. The total vandalization of their world.

The legend engraved on the face of the Jewish nickel—on the body of every Jewish child!—not IN GOD WE TRUST, but SOMEDAY YOU'LL BE A PARENT AND YOU'LL KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE.

Unlike him, many were able not merely to construct whole conversations that revolved around their grandchildren but to find sufficient grounds for existence in the existence of their grandchildren.

For I had come, you see, to submit myself for candidacy as nothing less than E. I. Lonoff's spiritual son, to petition for his moral sponsorship and to win, if I could, the magical protection of his advocacy and his love.

You can store us like shoes or ship us like lettuce. The simpleton who invented the coffin was a poetic genius and a great wit.

None of the other famous phallocrats of Updike's generation—not Mailer, not Exley or Roth or even Bukowski—excites such violent dislike.

No ancient story, not even Homer's Iliad or Odyssey, has remained as popular through the course of time. The story of Rama appears as old as civilization and has a fresh appeal for every generation.

They dont understand what real treasure is. They see it in gold and copper, and tin. They see in herds of horses or cattle. They gather treasures to themselves, building great storehouses, which they guard ferociously. Then they die. What good is it then?

We are tiny flames, Helikaon, and we flicker alone in the great dark for no more than a heartbeat. When we strive for wealth, glory and fame, it is meaningless. The nations we fight for will one day cease to be. Even the mountains we gaze upon will crumble to dust. To truly live we must yearn for that which does not die.

If we are still discussing its merits tomorrow, I will agree with you, said Diagoras. Cheer up, laddie. Nobody lives forever. Oh I expect you will, Druss, Old Horse. It's the mortals around you who always seem to kiss the granite.

All wars are started by angry old men, but they are fought by young men who die for reasons that are beyond them. In the end, the same old men sit around tables and the war ends. Nothing is achieved. Nothing is gained. New faces move into old castles, and the sons of the dead build families ready to feed new battleground graveyards.

Any good that I may do, let me do it now, for I may not pass this way again.

This was the only place in all the world for the last of the old heroes: Druss the Legend, standing with the last hopes of the Drenai on the battlements of the greatest fortress ever built, waiting for the largest army in the world. Where else would he be?

Death haunts everyone and never fails

We are not made for life at all, old horse. It is made for us. We live it. We leave it.

Tell me, what are the Cheiam? We are the drinkers of blood, the sons of Joachim. We worship only one god: Shalli, the spirit of death. How many of you are there? One hundred only, Lord Earl. But judge us not by our number. Rather, watch the numbers of dead we leave behind us.