Quotes About Legacy

There was a chance for me to write one song for the section where Elvis sat in his black leather outfit and sang the old hits. At eight oclock the next morning I had written Memories.

Ao verme que primeiro roeu as frias carnes do meu cadáver dedico como saudosa lembrança estas memórias póstumas

O mais feroz dos animais domésticos é o relógio de parede. Conheço um que já devorou três gerações da minha família.

The influence of individual character extends from generation to generation.

Sow good services; sweet remembrances will grow them.

I can't imagine what it is like to be raised in a society where their only statues that exist are to you and your father.

In A Man With a Pipe, my brother observed that although my father had been seen as intellectual and my mother more a creature of temperament, she had often been the more levelheaded of the two. In sum, we miss them as we love them, equally and always.

Historie se žije dopÃ…â"¢edu, ale píÅ¡e dozadu.

Fascism did not die with Mussolini," he warned. "Hitler is finished, but the seeds spread by his disordered mind have firm root in too many fanatical brains.

Maduro is burly and has a trim mustache. What he doesn't have is enough wit, charm, or oil riches to fill the boots of Chávez

History has been unkind to timid presidents. It has been downright cruel to those who think themselves above the Constitution.

Years from now, we may look back on Trump as a onetime oddity who taught us a lesson we will not forget about the quirks of democracy

Thomas Edison hailed him as the "genius of the modern age"; Gandhi, as a "superman." Winston Churchill pledged to stand by him in his "struggle against the bestial appetites of Leninism." Newspapers in Rome, host to the Vatican, referred to him as "the incarnation of God." In the end, people who had worshipped [Benito Mussolini's] every move hung his corpse upside down next to his mistress's near a gas station in Milan.

It's foolhardy to think that a story ends

Once each year, my father used to take us to the symphony. We never had good seats but Ba said it didn't matter, the point was to be there, to exist in the room while music, however old it might be, was being renewed.

When he died, all things soft and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.

Odysseus inclines his head. "True. But fame is a strange thing. Some men gain glory after they die, while others fade. What is admired in one generation is abhorred in another." He spread his broad hands. "We cannot say who will survive the holocaust of memory. Who knows?" He smiles. "Perhaps one day even I will be famous. Perhaps more famous than you.

When I am dead, I charge you to mingle our ashes and bury us together.

Bury us, and mark our names above. Let us be free.

Name one hero who was happy." "You can't." He was sitting up now, leaning forward. "I can't." "I know. They never let you be famous AND happy." He lifted an eyebrow. "I'll tell you a secret." "Tell me." I loved it when he was like this. "I'm going to be the first." He took my palm and held it to his. "Swear it." "Why me?" "Because you're the reason. Swear it." "I swear it

What is admired in one generation is abhorred in another. We cannot say who will survive the holocaust of memory… We are men only, a brief flare of the torch.

He liked the way the obsidian reflected his light, the way its slick surfaces caught fire as he passed. Of course, he did not consider how black it would be when he was gone. My father has never been able to imagine the world without himself in it.

Every moment mortals died, by shipwreck and sword, by wild beasts and wild men, by illness, neglect, and age. It was their fate, Prometheus had told me, the story they all shared. No matter how vivid they were in life, no matter how brilliant, no matter the wonders they made, they came to dust and smoke. Meanwhile every petty and useless god would go on sucking down the bright air until the stars went dark.

Of all the mortals on the earth, there are only a few the gods will ever hear of. Consider the practicalities. By the time we learn their names, they are dead. They must be meteors indeed to catch our attention. The merely good: you are dust to us.