I have finished the History of Art, which is the history of man; I have listened with gratitude to all the voices which, for ten thousand years, man has used in order to speak to me. If the echo of those voices is sometimes heard in these pages, it is because I have loved him as he is and also as he desires to be. I shall die. Men live. I believe in them. Their adventure will come to an end only with the adventure of the earth, and, when the earth is dead, it will perhaps continue elsewhere. It is only a moment of it that I have recounted in this book. But every living moment contains the whole of life. Whoever participates with confidence in the adventure of men has his portion of immortality.