It wasn't about the glory. It was never about the glory. It was the idea.
The dream. The truth.
Ideas speak louder. They do not decay with age. They grow stronger.
Every utterance of an idea grants it sustenance.
Thought is its blood.
Will its breath.
Death may find us. Our bodies will rot. We will be long forgotten
to the waiting arms of ashes, our memories besmirched to the new
generations by images of us rotting in our skins.
But the idea? The idea never dies.
