The black arrowed swoop of the moment swung high into the unceilinged future, ten, fifty, sixty years, may be: then, past seeing, up to that warmthless unconsidered mock-time, when nothing shall be left but the memorial that fits all (except, if there be, the most unhappiest) of human kind: I was not, I lived and loved, I am not.

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Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: Eric Rücker Eddison (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.