That was what humans did: They left on another messages through time, pressed between pages or carved into rock. Like reaching out a hand through time, and trusting in a phantom hoped-for hand to catch yours. Humans did not last forever. They could only hope what they made would endure.
Cassandra ClareAnd what if I'm the one who kills him?" "My heart is your heart," he said, "My hands are your hands.
Cassandra Clare