The best way to predict the future is to invent it.

The best way to predict the future is to invent it.

A tunnel underneath the sea from Calais straight to Dover, Sir,
The squeamish folks may cross by land from read more

A tunnel underneath the sea from Calais straight to Dover, Sir,
The squeamish folks may cross by land from shore to shore,
With sluices made to drown the French, if e'er they would come
over, Sir,
Has long been talk'd of, till at length 'tis thought a monstrous
bore.

Prognostics do not always prove prophecies, at least the wisest
prophets make sure of the event first.

Prognostics do not always prove prophecies, at least the wisest
prophets make sure of the event first.

And they were offended in him. But Jesus said unto them, A
prophet is not without honour, save in read more

And they were offended in him. But Jesus said unto them, A
prophet is not without honour, save in his own country, and in
his own house.

It takes a mind like Dannel's, fact, ez big ez all ou'doors
To find out thet it looks like read more

It takes a mind like Dannel's, fact, ez big ez all ou'doors
To find out thet it looks like rain arter it fairly pours.

We have also a more sure word of prophecy; whereunto ye do well
that ye take heed, as unto read more

We have also a more sure word of prophecy; whereunto ye do well
that ye take heed, as unto a light that shineth in a dark place,
until the day dawn, and the day star arise in your hearts:
Knowing this first, that no prophecy of the scripture is of any
private interpretation.

Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.

Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.

Prophet of evil! never hadst thou yet
A cheerful word for me. To mark the signs
Of read more

Prophet of evil! never hadst thou yet
A cheerful word for me. To mark the signs
Of coming mischief is thy great delight,
Good dost thou ne'er foretell nor bring to pass.

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast;
Is that read more

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast;
Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so."