Quotes About Legacy

We all have the same dream, my grandmother says. To live equal in a country that's supposed to be the land of the free. She lets out a long breath, deep remembering.

Maybe this is how it happened first for everyone—adults promising us their own failed futures.

Maybe this is how it happened first for everyone —adults promising us their own failed future.

we don't know to be sad, the weight of our grandparents' love like a blanket with us beneath it, safe and warm.

I want to write this down, that the revolution is like a merry-go-round, history always being made somewhere. And maybe for a short time, we're a part of that history. And then the ride stops and our turn is over.

I should have known that sometimes common sense skips a generation.

My grandmother tells us all this as we sit at her feet, each story like a photograph we can look right into, see our mother there marchers and dogs and kittens all blending

They're all inside of us,...past people and present people. And probably even the people we'll become.

My fingers curl into fists, automatically This is the way, my mother said, of every baby's hand. I do not know if these hands will become Malcolm's—raised and fisted or Martin's—open and asking or James's—curled around a pen.

I do not know if these hands will become Malcolm's—raised and fisted or Martin's—open and asking or James's—curled around a pen. I

But now I knew there were so many ways to get hung from a cross—a mother's love for you morphing into something incomprehensible. A dress ghosted in another generation's dreams. A history of fire and ash and loss. Legacy.

I held on to my mama's Spelman College sweater. Wore it the first day I got there myself and still have it now. Held on to my own daddy's stethoscope until I pulled it out of its black leather case one winter and saw the rubber had melted into sticky pieces of nothing and the silver disk was flaked with rust. Seems all I had from them was the memories of fire and smoke.

But what I know now is this: Look at your grandmother's face. Remember the lines. Touch her cheekbones. Hold the memory of her in your fingers, in your eyes, in your mind. It might be all you get to keep.

When I sit down beside my mother, she shivers. When I touch Ellie's shoulders, she smiles like she knows it's me. Maybe she does. Who could have told me that the wind was some passed-on soul stopping to touch your face, your hands, your hair. Who knew a surprising cool breeze was someone who had gone before you saying, 'You're loved.

As we dance, I am not Melody, I am a narrative, someone's almost forgotten story. Remembered.

Maybe this was the moment when I knew I was part of a long line of almost erased stories. A child of denial. Of magical thinking.

But on paper, things can live forever. On paper, a butterfly never dies.

When someone you love that much leaves you behind there isn't as much of you left to die when your own time comes.

Teaching is not a lost art, but the regard for it is a lost tradition.

Le premier symbole où nous reconnaissons l'humanité dans ses vestiges est la sépulture, et le truchement de la mort se reconnaît en toute relation où l'homme vient à la vie de son histoire.

Yo seré un gran muerto.

Te voici Sujette à la Mort Etale ton Bien sur le Sol Poches, lettres, photos, paroles, Te voici Sujet en ta Mort. Te voici Corps perdant tout Corps Perdant tes lèvres, tes paroles, Chevelure noire du sol Au bord d'une Mort sans rebord. Ici le présent retenu Que tu ne tiendras pas, que tu Laisses continuer sa cible. Là ma mémoire sans projet Sans impossibles, sans possibles, Dont ta Mort est l'autre Sujet.

Venim de departe, fiecare dintre noi, pe drumuri atât de diverse încât le credem unice. Venim de departe, pentru a ajunge la prezent, pentru a îndr?zni s? ne ocup?m locul, s? ocup?m un spa?iu de via?? care nu se dezv?luie sub pa?ii no?tri, pentru a putea l?sa poate, poate, o urm? infim? a trecerii noastre pe acest P?mânt.

Casi nada sabemos [...] del macehualli cuyo trabajo alimentaba a los habitantes de la ciudad [...]. Por ello es necesario mencionarlo [...] tanto más cuanto que después del desastre de 1521, después de la destrucción total de las fuerzas y de las ideas, de las estructuras sociales y de las religiones, sólo él sobrevivió y sobrevive todavía.