My words are like the stars that never change.
Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic. As one tends the graves of the dead, so I tend the books. And every day I open a volume or two, read a few lines or pages, allow the voices of the forgotten dead to resonate inside my head.
Christ was a sublime actor on the stage of the world. He knew what he was thinking of when he said, "Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away." I draw near to him at such a time. Yet he taught mankind but imperfectly how to live; his thoughts were all directed toward another world. There is another kind of success than his. Even here we have a sort of living to get, and must buffet it somewhat longer. There are various tough problems yet to solve, and we must shift to live, betwixt spirit and matter, such a human life as we can.
A book is the only immortality.
The words that we have spoken shall never perish from the earth.
This was the group that decided who was to be executed in the Reign of Terror
Words have longer lives than people.
A word is dead when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day.
It is the illusion of all lovers to think themselves unique and their words immortal.
Words are timeless. You should utter them or write them with a knowledge of their timelessness.