"Im 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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How wholesome winter is, seen far or near; how good, above all mere sentimental, warm-blooded, short-lived, soft-hearted, moral goodness, commonly so called. Give me the goodness which has forgotten its own deeds,--which God has seen to be good, and let be.

— Henry David Thoreau