Leuconoe, close the book of fate,
For troubles are in store,
. . . .
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Leuconoe, close the book of fate,
For troubles are in store,
. . . .
Live today, tomorrow is not.

After all, tomorrow is another day.

After all, tomorrow is another day.

How oft my guardian angel gently cried,
"Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see
How read more

How oft my guardian angel gently cried,
"Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see
How he persists to knock and wait for thee!"
And, O! how often to that voice of sorrow,
"To-morrow we will open," I replied,
And when the morrow came I answered still, "To-morrow."

Of course, it's very easy to be witty tomorrow, after you get a chance to do some research and rehearse read more

Of course, it's very easy to be witty tomorrow, after you get a chance to do some research and rehearse your ad libs.

To-morrow will give some food for thought.
[Lat., Aliquod crastinus dies ad cogitandum dabit.]

To-morrow will give some food for thought.
[Lat., Aliquod crastinus dies ad cogitandum dabit.]

To-morrow, didst thou say?
Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow!
Go to--I will not hear it. To-morrow!
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To-morrow, didst thou say?
Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow!
Go to--I will not hear it. To-morrow!
'Tis a sharper--who stakes his penury
Against thy plenty--takes thy ready cash,
And pays thee naught but wishes, hopes, and promises,
The currency of idiots--injurious bankrupt,
That gulls the easy creditor!

To-morrow you will live, you always cry;
In what fair country does this morrow lie,
That 'tis read more

To-morrow you will live, you always cry;
In what fair country does this morrow lie,
That 'tis so mighty long ere it arrive?
Beyond the Indies does this morrow live?
'Tis so far-fetched, this morrow, that I fear
'Twill be both very old and very dear.
"To-morrow I will live," the fool does say:
To-day itself's too late;--the wise lived yesterday.

In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining,
May my lot no less fortunate be
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In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining,
May my lot no less fortunate be
Than a snug elbow-chair can afford for reclining,
And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea;
With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn,
While I carol away idle sorrow,
And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn,
Look forward with hope for to-morrow.

Too late is tomorrow's life; live for today.

Too late is tomorrow's life; live for today.