“History” (what we leave behind as we die) is but a feeble shadow of our present lives. It is THIS MOMENT that counts. When we who are now living are dead, our actual lives will be lost on those who will come after…..
Children picking up our bones
Will never know that these were once
As quick as foxes on the hill;
And that in autumn, when the grapes
Made sharp air sharper by their smell
These had a being, breathing frost;
Wallace Stevens from “A Postcard From the Volcano”