The trouble with our times is that the future is not what it used to be.
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[collapse title=”The trouble with our times is that the future is not what it used to be” active=”true”]
Our faith in the present dies out long before our faith in the future.
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[collapse title=”Tomorrow is fresh, with no mistakes in it.”]
The future is called “perhaps,” which is the only possible thing to call the future.
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[collapse title=”I have seen the future and it is very much like the present – only longer.”]
A preoccupation with the future not only prevents us from seeing the present as it is but often prompts us to rearrange the past.
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“Strike the tent there!”—was the next order. As I hinted before, this whalebone marquee was never pitched except in port; and on board the Pequod, for thirty years, the order to strike the tent was well known to be the next thing to heaving up the anchor.
“Man the capstan! Blood and thunder!—jump!”—was the next command, and the crew sprang for the handspikes.