Past and Future

She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more; it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

What’s past and what’s to come is strew’d with husks And formless ruin of oblivion.

Beauty, wit, High birth, vigor of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.

And in such indexes, although small pricks To their subsequent volumes, there is seen The baby figure of the giant mass Of things to come.

O God! Horatio, what a wounded name, Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me. If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, Absent thee from felicity awhile, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, To tell my story.

Thou know’st ’tis common; all that live must die, Passing through nature to eternity.

True is it that we have seen better days.

How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted o’er, In states unborn and accents yet unknown!

Past and to come seem best; things present worst.

My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late!

As is my grief, or lesser than my name, Or that I could forget what I have been, Or not remember what I must be now.

Sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud; And after summer evermore succeeds Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.

For of fortunes sharpe adversitee The worste kynde of infortune is this, A man to han ben in prosperitee, And it remembren, whan it passed is.

True happiness is to enjoy the present without anxious dependence on the future.

Be not a slave of your own past.

The days that are still to come are the wisest witnesses.

Who so neglects learning in his youth, loses the past and is dead for the future.

I said there was but one solitary thing about the past worth remembering, and that was the fact that it is past-can't be restored.

When I was fourteen years old, I was amazed at how unintelligent my father was. By the time I turned twenty-one, I was astounded how much he had learned in the last seven years.

The past does not repeat itself, but it rhymes.

When the end of the world comes, I want to be in Kentucky, because everything there happens 20 years after it happens anywhere else.