Quotes About Legacy

Here lies Jack Williams. He done his damndest.

With every death, a world is disappearing.

death should be celebrated...when you put something in the ground you always know where it is

Death, thou shalt die.

I ask a wreathwhich will not crush my head. And there is no hurry about it; I shall have, doubtless, a boom after my funeral, Seeing that long standing increases all things regardless of quality.

Death, only death, can break the lasting chain; And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain

Poor Georgia O'Keeffe. Death didn't soften the opinions of the art world toward her paintings.

Alas, Postumus, the fleeting years slip by, nor will piety give any stay to wrinkles and pressing old age and untamable death.

One puts off the biography like you put off death. To write an autobiography is to etch the words on your own gravestone.

I have a strong theory that all the dead people are looking down and laughing and smiling and saying "Oh look, they are so upset about the death thing."

Limited men with limitless energy; men quick to be friendly and quick to be fed up; men for whom the most serious thing in life is to keep going despite everything. And we were their sons.

Nobody beloved gets out alive.

It was all remarkable. Good-bye, remarkable. Egypt and Greece good-bye, and good-bye, Rome!

You know what he did for a living before the war? Sold champagne. A liquor salesman, Sandy. A fake—a plutocrat and a thief and a fake. Even the 'von' in his name is a fake.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt commends "the reading of the Bible" to my brother. The way they got these kids to die. Commends.

Limited men with limitless energy; men quick to be friendly and quick to be fed up; men for whom the most serious thing in life is to keep going despite everything. And we were their sons. It was our job to love them.

Noi lasciamo una macchia, lasciamo una traccia, lasciamo la nostra impronta.

Mishima. Rothko. Hemingway. Berryman. Koestler. Pavese. Kosinski. Arshile Gorky. Primo Levi. Hart Crane. Walter Benjamin. Peerless bunch. Nothing dishonorable signing on there.

Destiny had become perfectly understandable while everything unenigmatic, such as standing for the photograph in the third row back, with my one arm on the shoulder of Marshall Goldstein ("Children 39, 37. Grandchildren 8, 6") and my other on the shoulder of Stanley Wernikoff ("Children 39, 38. Grandchildren 5, 2, 8 mo."), had become inexplicable.

The Swede had loved that story all his life. Who wrote it? Nobody, as far as he could remember. They'd just studied it in grade school. Johnny Appleseed, out there everywhere planting apple trees. That bag of seeds. I loved that bag.

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

Ungrace does its work quietly and lethally, like a poisonous, undetectable gas. A father dies unforgiven. A mother who once carried a child in her own body does not speak to that child for half its life. The toxin steals on, from generation to generation.

How will we feel if historians of the future look back on the evangelical church of the 1990s and declare, "They fought bravely on the moral fronts of abortion and homosexual rights," while at the same time reporting that we did little to fulfill the Great Commission, and we did little to spread the aroma of grace in the world?

Death becomes the expression of everything you are, and you can bring to it only what you have brought to your life," said Roemer after the filming.