“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.”

“Let wise men piece the world together with wisdom
Or poets with holy magic.
Hey-di-ho.”

“They made two thousand years ago seem like yesterday, and yesterday look like today, just as today would, in time, look like tomorrow.”

“Cured yesterday of my disease,
I died last night of my physician.”

“Each of us is all the sums he has not counted: subtract us into the nakedness and night again, and you shall see begin in Crete four thousand years ago the love that ended yesterday in Texas.”

“When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together.”

“The fame and name of Jesus is still above most of the living people today, considering that, he died two thousand years ago.”

“Robert Kennedy, whose summer home is eight miles away from the home I live in all year round, was shot two nights ago. He died last night. So it goes.
Martin Luther King was shot a month ago. He died, too. So it goes.
And everyday my government gives me a count of corpses created by the military service in Vietnam. So it goes.
My father died many years ago now — of natural causes. So it goes. He was a sweet man. He was a gun nut, too. He left me his guns. They rust.”

“O fading honours of the dead!
O high ambition, lowly laid!”

“Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday; I can't be sure.”