Quotes About Legacy

True or not, it's important to have stories ? they are what give us the right to walk the earth and have a name.

People don't always go down in history for the vigor with which they perform their jobs. We remember Louis the Fifteenth . . . for his furniture; we remember Pierre Léotard, despite his being the greatest trapeze artist ever, for his leotard. The idea is to give your name to something, like the zeppelin, the newton, Morse code, the chicuelina .

Si nos deja es para preparar, también un día, nuestra llegada al reino del Señor, para que seamos acogidos con esmero. No imaginé a mi padre con el empeño de prepararme una acogedora llegada al Cielo, ¿me dejaría allí ducharme sin gritarme que cerrara el grifo de una maldita vez? Me costaba imaginar el reencuentro del que hablaba el sacerdote. Como mucho mi padre me aguardaría con su oportuno te lo dije.

Lo de morir despacio y dejar un cadáver gastadísimo me gusta.

Aquí lo que nos importa es preservar las raíces, que los que vengan encuentren el origen, la antigüedad.

A todos nos gusta adornar el repaso de la vida propia de aquello que fue luminoso, para morir entre luces y no en la oscuridad del desengaño.

During times of peace, the sons bury their fathers, but in war it is the fathers who send their sons to the grave. —HERODOTUS, THE HISTORY

The problem of the twenty-first century is still some agonizingly enduring combination of legacies bleeding forward from slavery and color lines. Freedom in its infinite meanings remains humanity's most universal aspiration. Douglass's life, and especially his words, may forever serve as our watch-warnings in our unending search for the beautiful, needful thing.

David W. Blight

Douglass insisted on remembrance before any action: "Perhaps there is too much past. But remember that all the present rests on all the past. Remember is as good a word as forget.

For black Americans, Exodus is always contemporary, history always past and present.

Wohin mit all dem, wenn ich tot bin? Ich glaube, ich hätte lieber die Erinnerung eines Grashalms am Straßenrand, an dem alle vorübergehen, eines Grashalms, den nie wieder einer sieht, bis er eines Tages abgemäht oder ausgerupft wird. Oder einfach vertrocknet.

And as he headed around the curve of the ship toward the bridge, he wondered distantly if he would go down in history as a footnote, or as the prime offender in a major interstellar incident.

When it's all said and done, I want to be able to say I got the most out of my potential. I don't want to look back, however many years from now, and say, 'I wonder if I would have worked a little harder. I wonder if I would have done this or done that, how things would have turned out.' I want to, when it's all said and done, be able to put my head on my pillow and say, 'I did everything I could do — good or bad.

He was like a sheep being led to be killed. He was quiet, as a lamb is quiet while its wool is being cut; he never opened his mouth. He was shamed and was treated unfairly. He died without children to continue his family. His life on earth has ended.

No, if there's any ultimate redemption, it would be because I passed though your life without scarring you, and did not diminish who you are.

Some lives, conducted with grace, are beautiful arcs bridging this world to eternity.

That was one of the most fundamental and sacred duties good friends and families performed for one another! They tended the flame of memory, so no one's death meant an immediate vanishment from the world; in some sense the deceased would live on after their passing, at least as long as those who loved them lived. Such memories were an essential weapon against the chaos of life and death, a way to ensure some continuity from generation to generation, an order of endorsement and meaning.

The dead are merely the countrymen of my future.

Life is a train ride, and at the many stations along the route, people important to us debark, never to get aboard again, until by the end of the journey, we sit in a passenger car where most of the seats are empty.

I stopped in St. Bernadette's Cemetery one of my favorite places... The trunks of six giant oaks rise like columns supporting a ceiling formed by their interlocking crowns. In the quiet space below, is laid out an aisle similar to those in any library. The gravestones are like rows of books bearing the names of those whose names have been blotted from the pages of life; who have been forgotten elsewhere but are remembered here.

she understood as never before that home wasn't a place but rather a place in the heart. In this troubled world, everything was transient except what we could carry with us in our minds and hearts. Every home ceased to be a home sooner or later, but not with its demolition. It survived destruction as long as just one person who had loved it still lived. Home was the story of what happened there, not the story of where it happened.

Your past is my Future.

??a con là m?t tr?i nh? chi?u lên cái bóng c?a cha m? nó, và khi m?t tr?i Ä'ó l?n Ä'i, thì cha m? ch? còn bóng t?i.