Quotes About Heritage

The wisdom of our ancestors.

Languages are the pedigree of nations.

The spirit hits them and they follow (My italics) Louis Armstrong Mumbo Jumbo [Mandingo m?-m?-gyo-mb?, "magician who makes the troubled spirits of ancestors go away": m?-m?, grandmother+gyo, trouble+ mb?, to leave.] The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language

The Jewish people have been in exile for 2,000 years; they have lived in hundreds of countries, spoken hundreds of languages and still they kept their old language, Hebrew. They kept their Aramaic, later their Yiddish; they kept their books; they kept their faith.

What a wealth we are granted, in the books that carry the best in us through time.

They looked at the paper and saw nothing in those curving lines, but they knew and understood everything, for their geography was in their blood and they felt biologically their picture of the world.

Great men die twice, once when they leave this world and a second time when their life work disappears.

Ne treba mene žaliti. Jer svi mi umiremo samo jednom, a veliki ljudi po dva puta; jednom kad ih nestane sa zemlje, a drugi put kad propadne njihova zadužbina.

all of us die only once, whereas great men die twice, once when they leave this world and a second time when their lifework disappears.

It is impossible to pretend that you are not heir to, and therefore, however inadequately or unwillingly, responsible to, and for, the time and place that give you life. —James Baldwin

What did people do with enormous families? All those cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews. How did they keep them straight? How did they breathe at any sort of family function?

The problem with progress is that it often sweeps aside, destroying rather than respecting what others have built before us.

Geschichte lebt nicht, wenn man ihr keine Heimat im Bewusstsein gibt; sie ist eine Last, die kein freier Mensch zu tragen gezwungen werden kann.

So what is it, he thought, that binds me to this spot of earth as if to a home I cannot leave? We must all leave home, after all, we must all leave our mothers. Or am I such a child, such a child from such a line of children, that none of us can leave, but have to come back to die here with our heads upon our mothers' laps, I upon hers, she upon her mother's, and so back and back, generation upon generation?

as well as Assail and his two cousins, Fang I and II.

It's in your father's volume. Xcor is the blooded son of the Black Dagger Brother Hharm. Just as you are." Tohr

THE OLD COUNTRY, 1731 F

We are all products of our upbringings, Primale. The constructions that result from our choices are laid upon the foundation set by our parents and their parents before them. We are but the next level in the house or paver in the path.

A warrior! 'Tis a warrior!" Hharm's heart beat hard, his triumph thundering in his ears. "My son shall carry forth my name! He shall be known as Hharm as I was before he!" The

Never dreaming, was I, poor Jack Duluoz, that the soul is dead. That from Heaven grace descends . . . No Doctor Pisspot Poorpail to tell me; no example inside my first and only skin. That love is the heritage, and cousin to death. That the only love can only be the first love, the only death the last, the only life within, and the only word . . . choked forever.

The waves are Chinese, but the earth is an Indian thing.

I've just figured out she is thirty-one-and-a-quarter-per-cent English, twenty-seven-and-a-half-per-cent Irish, twenty-five-per-cent German, eighty-and-three-quarters-per-cent Dutch, seven-and-a-half-per-cent Scotch, one-hundred-per-cent wonderful.

But it did not all happen in a day, this giving over of himself, body and soul, to the man-animals. He could not immediately forego his wild heritage and his memories of the Wild. There were days when he crept to the edge of the forest and stood and listened to something calling him far and away.

In this manner had fought forgotten ancestors. They quickened the old life within him, the old tricks which they had stamped into the heredity of the breed were his tricks... And when, on the still cold nights, he pointed his nose at a star and howled long and wolflike, it was his ancestors, dead and dust, pointing nose at star and howling down through the centuries and through him.