When I left Apple, it had $2 billion of cash. It was the most

There are words that echo not only through time, but through the very halls of human ambition — words that speak of triumph, of departure, and of the complex legacy of creation. Among such words are those of John Sculley, who said: “When I left Apple, it had $2 billion of cash. It was the most profitable computer company in the world — not just personal computers — and Apple was the number one selling computer.” In this declaration lies not mere pride, but a meditation on success, legacy, and the transience of human control over the forces we set in motion. For Sculley’s statement, though factual, carries the bittersweet tone of one who built greatness and then turned away from it — a reminder that even the architects of empires cannot always remain within the walls they have raised.

The meaning of this quote reaches beyond the corporate sphere into the heart of human endeavor. Sculley, who once stood at the helm of Apple, speaks not only of wealth and power, but of stewardship — of the burden that comes with shaping the destiny of an idea. When he says, “When I left Apple, it had $2 billion of cash,” he speaks as a man who had guided a dream into prosperity, who had seen the fruits of discipline, strategy, and leadership. Yet hidden in his words is also the quiet echo of impermanence. The wealth of Apple, the glory of its success, was not eternal, nor was his place within it. It is the eternal lesson of all human creation: we may build wonders, but time and vision often move beyond us.

The origin of these words can be traced to one of the most storied partnerships — and conflicts — in the history of innovation. John Sculley, a marketing visionary lured from PepsiCo by Steve Jobs, joined Apple in 1983 with the shared dream of bringing computing to the masses. Together, they brought forth the Macintosh, a machine that would forever change the relationship between man and machine. Under Sculley’s leadership, Apple flourished — its profits soared, its name became legend. Yet as often happens when two great minds clash, the harmony did not last. Differing visions — one rooted in artistry, the other in business — tore them apart. In 1985, Steve Jobs departed, and years later, so too did Sculley, leaving behind a company at its zenith. His words, then, are those of reflection — of a man looking back upon the heights he once commanded, knowing both the glory and the loneliness of leadership.

This story mirrors that of many great figures throughout history. Consider Alexander the Great, who conquered the known world by the age of thirty, only to find that empire itself could not be tamed by one man’s will. Like Sculley, Alexander stood atop vast success, his armies rich and his name immortal — yet his departure, too, left behind a kingdom that would soon fracture without his guidance. The lesson is the same across ages: no matter how magnificent one’s triumph, no empire lasts without renewal. Prosperity, left unguarded, fades; innovation, left unkindled, cools. The wise builder must recognize that greatness is not sustained by wealth alone, but by the spirit that gave birth to it.

Sculley’s reflection also reveals the paradox of success. To reach the pinnacle of achievement often requires sacrifice — not only of comfort and time, but sometimes of vision and unity. When he left Apple, the company was not merely rich; it was righteous in its industry, standing as a symbol of technological art. Yet behind that triumph lay division, and behind the brilliance of profit, the shadow of conflict. This teaches us that success, when pursued without harmony of purpose, can sow the seeds of its own undoing. The garden may bloom brilliantly, but if the roots war beneath the soil, it will one day wither.

And yet, there is nobility in Sculley’s remembrance. His tone is not one of bitterness, but of acceptance — a recognition that his chapter, though complete, was essential to the story of Apple’s destiny. His stewardship preserved the company’s health during uncertain times, ensuring that it would one day rise again, reborn under the same Steve Jobs who once departed in frustration. Therein lies the quiet wisdom of the quote: to lead is to contribute, not to possess; to build is to prepare others to continue what you began. True greatness lies not in permanence, but in the endurance of what you have nurtured.

So, my listener, let this truth take root within you: when you build, build with care, but know that all things you create will one day live beyond you. Wealth fades, fame dims, but legacy endures — if it is founded upon passion, integrity, and purpose. Do not measure your life merely by the riches you accumulate, but by the vitality you leave behind in the hearts and works of others. John Sculley’s words, though spoken of computers and cash, are in truth a reflection of the ancient law of creation — that every builder must one day step aside, and in doing so, give space for the next light to rise.

Thus, walk your path as both maker and mentor. Strive for excellence, but be ready to release it when your time comes. For to build something truly great — as Sculley did, as countless before him have done — is to accept that the crown of achievement is not worn forever. The wise know when to lead, when to let go, and when to trust that the seed they have sown will continue to bear fruit long after they are gone. In that letting go, as in all of life’s endings, there is not loss — but immortality.