Quotes About Uncertainty

All of the sudden, he said, I feel different-- not like I ever felt before. Even when Papa died I didn't feel this way. In two days everything is changed. I'm lonely and I don't now what I'm lonely for

Future? Homer said. He was a little embarrassed because all his life, from day to day, he had been busy mapping out a future, even if it was only a future for the next day. Well, he said, I don't know for sure, but I guess I'd like to be somebody some day.

Expectation is the root of all heartache.

Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be.

I do feel it gone, But know not how it went

If you can look into the seeds of time And say which grain will grow and which will not, Speak, then, to me, who neither beg nor fear Your favors nor your hate.

Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.

I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die.

Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.

You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty!

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. What is love? 'Tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies not plenty; Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises; and oft it hits where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.

It puzzles the will.

Our wills and fates do so contrary run, that our devices still are overthrown; our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.

Your if is the only peacemaker; much virtue in if.

Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the offered fallacy.

Alas, poor country, almost afraid to know itself! It cannot be called our mother, but our grave.

O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away!

Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? Sleeping or waking, mad or well-advised? Known unto these, and to myself disguised? I'll say as they say, and persever so, And in this mist at all adventures go.

we know what we are, but know not what we may be.

O that a man might know The end of this day's business ere it come! But it sufficeth that the day will end And then the end is known.

But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?

Or I am mad, or else this is a dream.

When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again?