“Ah, but my Computations, People say,
Reduced the Year to better reckoning? — Nay
'Twas only striking from the Calendar
Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday.”

“Ah, my Belov'ed fill the Cup that clears
To-day Past Regrets and Future Fears:
To-morrow! — Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.”

Omar Khayyám (1048–1131) Persian poet, philosopher, mathematician, and astronomer

“But when to-morrow comes, yesterday's morrow will have been already spent: and lo! a fresh morrow will be for ever making away with our years, each just beyond our grasp.”
Cum lux altera venit,<br/>iam cras hesternum consumpsimus; ecce aliud cras<br/>egerit hos annos et semper paulum erit ultra.

Persius (34–62) ancient latin poet

“The crisis of yesterday is the joke of to-morrow.”

H. G. Wells (1866–1946) English writer

“Many people will find this book disrespectful. There is nothing amusing about being dead, they will say. Ah, but there is.”

Mary Roach book Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers

“People who say that yesterday was better than today are ultimately devaluing their own existence.”

Karl Lagerfeld (1933–2019) German fashion designer

“Aryabhatiya, an improved work, is product of mature intellect, which he wrote when he was 23 years old. Unlike in the Aryabhata siddhanta, the civil days are reckoned from one sunrise to the next, a practice which is still prevalent among the followers of Hindu calendar.”

Aryabhata (476–550) Indian mathematician-astronomer

“The blue dusk ran between the streets; my love was winged within my mind;
It left to-day and yesterday and thrice a thousand years behind.
To-day was past and dead for me for from to-day my feet had run
Through thrice a thousand years to walk the ways of ancient Babylon.”

George William Russell (1867–1935) Irish writer, editor, critic, poet, and artistic painter

“Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not powerless. Dead, did I say? There is no death, only change of worlds.”

Chief Seattle (1786–1866) Duwamish chief

“Where's he that died o' yesterday?
What better chance hath he
To clink the can and toss the pot
When this night's junkets be?
For the lad that died o' yesterday
Is just as dead — ho! ho! —
As the whoreson knave men laid away
A thousand years ago.”

Edmund Clarence Stedman (1833–1908) American poet, critic, and essayist