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We try so hard to put our mark on things, we like to tell ourselves that what we do has import or will last. But the truth is, we’re all just passing through. So little survives us. And when we’re gone, it’s simply the memory of others that keeps our time here alive. And when they’re gone… That’s why – when I go – I’m asking that my dust gets tossed on the water. Because ends up floating away.
