Rash indeed is he who reckons on the morrow, or haply on days beyond it; for tomorrow is not, until today is past. - Sophocles
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes... Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings. - William Shakespeare