Myra from "Battle of Angels" by Tennessee Williams

They say! They say! What of it? Ten thousand years from today we'll just be little tell-tale marks on the sides of rocks which people refer to as fossils. (There is the sound of slow tolling bells across the wide, rainy fields.) That's all will be left of our big tremendous adventures! (She smiles with amazement at this thought.) Teeny-weeny little pencil-scratches, things like pigeon tracks will be what's left of Mayra--what's left of Val! Then old Mr. Important Scientific Professor will pick up his microscope--"Humph!" he'll say, "This girl had remarkable legs." Or, "Goodness, this young man lost a rib somewhere." That will be all they'll ever find out about us! Were we in love? Were we happy? Did white moths fly in our windows? How do they know? They can't tell. History isn't written about little people. All that little people ever get to be is marks on rocks called fossils.