A Quote by Plato

Books are immortal sons deifying their sires. — © Plato
Books are immortal sons deifying their sires.

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Few sons attain the praise Of their great sires and most their sires disgrace.
The Manifested Sons of God doctrine teaches that these Sons will be equal to Jesus Christ: immortal, sinless, perfected sons who have partaken of the divine nature. They have every right to be called gods and will be gods
The Reproductions of the living Ens From sires to sons, unknown to sex, commence... Unknown to sex the pregnant oyster swells, And coral-insects build their radiate shells... Birth after birth the line unchanging runs, And fathers live transmitted in their sons; Each passing year beholds the unvarying kinds, The same their manners, and the same their minds.
Our sires' age was worse than our grandsires'. We their sons are more worthless than they: so in our turn we shall give the world a progeny yet more corrupt.
To be immortal is commonplace; except for man, all creatures are immortal, for they are ignorant of death; what is divine, terrible, incomprehensible, is to know that one is immortal.
I don't want anyone deifying me.
People perish. Books are immortal.
I don't think the soul is immortal, or at least not immortal in individuals, but it may be immortal as an aspect of the human personality because when I talk about what literature nourishes, it would be silly of me or reductionist to say that it nourishes the brain.
The noblest calling in the world is motherhood. True motherhood is the most beautiful of all arts, the greatest of all professions. She who can paint a masterpiece, or who can write a book that will influence millions, deserve the plaudits and admiration of mankind; but she who rears successfully a family of healthy, beautiful sons and daughters whose immortal souls will exert influence throughout the ages long after paintings shall have faded, and books and statues shall have decayed or been destroyed, deserves the highest honor that man can give, and the choicest blessings of God.
By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set to-day a votive stone; That memory may their deed redeem, When, like our sires, our sons are gone.
...a book need never die and should not be killed; books were the immortal part of man.
One of my sons has a tattoo on his ankle that was meant to be Africa but looks like Australia, one of my sons mumbles, and one of my sons is a gay man. I'll be honest, there's been loads of nights when me and my wife have sat up and worried and worried and worried, 'What are we going to do if he doesn't stop mumbling?'
But thy strong Hours indignant work’d their wills, And beat me down and marr’d and wasted me, And tho’ they could not end me, left me maim’d To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was, in ashes. - Tithonus
Even in animals there exists the spirit of their sires.
I've never said I'm immortal. I do believe in correct language. I'm eternal; I'm not immortal.
I'm not a person who wants to die with my shoes on. I do not think I can be immortal. Maybe my deeds will be immortal. Not me.
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