“So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”
– William Shakespeare, Sonnet 18
I first read these lines over forty years ago. At the time, they echoed the lingering ache of a love that had ended — a chapter closed, but still luminous. The words gave that memory form and permanence, as if Shakespeare had written them just for that moment in my life.
Rereading them today, I’m struck by something else entirely. This sonnet, like so many literary works, survives not only because of its beauty, but because it gives life back to us, over and over. Literature, with its unique ability, holds the power to preserve what matters — not only people and emotions, but entire eras, voices, and transformations, connecting us to our past and enlightening our present.
Since we learned to inscribe thought onto stone, parchment, or screen, we’ve built a dialogue across centuries. And each time we reread something, we meet not only the text, but the versions of ourselves that once read it.
To reread is to remember who we were.
To reflect is to see how — and why — we’ve changed.
And to write, even briefly, is to join the great conversation that keeps giving life to what would otherwise be lost.
