Quotes About Legacy

History is the consequence not only of people's actions, but also of their forgetfulness.

His father said to him: 'See now. You pay your way. I've made a man of you.' But what man That's what fathers never know. Not in advance. Not until it's too late

History is unkind to those it abandons, and can be equally unkind to those who make it.

Parents are impelled by the profit motive - nothing more, nothing less. For their attentions, they expected, from me, the immense dividend of greatness.

When a writer is born into a family, the family is finished,' Czes?aw Mi?osz once said.)

it is the privilege and the curse of midnight's children to be both masters and victims of their times

say: maybe not in these words; maybe not in words at all, but in the purer language of thought; but yes, certainly, this is what was at the bottom of it all; because children are the vessels into which adults pour their poison, and it was the poison of grown-ups which did for us.

Aš iš tav?s padariau žmog?. Bet kok? žmog?? To t?vai niekada nežino. Bent jau iš anksto; o kai sužino, b?na per v?lu.

Even great Bellow, he saw in the Times, had been unclear on the question of the heart, and had asked on his deathbed: "Was I a man, or was I a jerk?

I am everyone everything whose being-in-the-world affected was affected by mine. I am anything that happens after I've gone which would not have happened if I had not come. Nor am I particularly exceptional in this matter; each "I," every one of the now-six-hundred-million-plus of us, contains a similar multitude. I repeat for the last time: to understand me, you'll have to swallow a world.

But the past is not less valuable because it is no longer the present. In fact, it's more important, because forever unseen.

I had thought myself free of him, but that was vanity. Death shows us the power of blood.

Dr Faustus sacrificed eternity in return for two dozen years of power; the writer agrees to the ruination of his life, and gains (but only if he's lucky) maybe not eternity, but posterity, at least.

When people start talking about a golden age," he said, "they always think a new world has begun which will last forever. But the truth about these so-called golden ages is that they never last very long. A few years, maybe. There's always trouble ahead.

Who what am I? My answer: I am the sum total of everything that went before me, of all I have been seen done, of everything done-to-me. I am everyone everything whose being-in-the-world affected was affected by mine. I am anything that happens after I've gone which would not have happened if I had not come.

Anyone in the vicinity of a dying man was utterly at his mercy. Punches delivered from a deathbed left bruises that never faded.

Ahmed Sinai never forgave his son for breaking his toe. Even after the splint was removed, a tiny limp remained. My father leaned over my crib and said, "So, my son: you're starting as you mean to go on. Already you've started bashing your poor old father!" In my opinion, this was only half a joke.

Rani, too, was perpetuating memories. Harappa the martyr, the demigod, lived on in his daughter's thoughts; but no two sets of memories ever match, even when their subject is the same (...)

Pagas lo que debes. He hecho de ti un hombre.» Pero ¿qué hombre? Eso es algo que los padres nunca saben. No lo saben de antemano; no lo saben hasta que ya es tarde.)

fHistory is the consequence not only of people's actions, but also of their forgetfulness.

History is a consequence not only of people's actions, but also of their forgetfulness.

This is who we are. We sail away from the place we love and then because we aren't there to love it people go with axes and burning torches and smash and burn and then we say, Oh, too sad. But we abandoned it, left it to our barbarian successors to destroy.

History is the consequence not only of people's actions, but also of their forgetfulness.

Winner of the "Booker of Bookers," Midnight's Children is the novel that can be said to have done for Indian literature what One Hundred Years of Solitude did for the literature of the Americas, exciting a boom whose echoes have yet to fade.