Maybe she was one of those people for whom satisfaction lay only in the future, forever slightly out of reach.

All sense of reality had gone out of her life; she had abandoned herself to fate, and awaited the consequences with indifference.

Suddenly she realized that what she was regretting was not the lost past but the lost future, not what had not been but what would never be.

Unable to see further than tomorrow.

Never to have seen anything but the is to have lived on the fringe of the world.

She doesn't think it's a good idea to know the future, because you can hardly ever change it, so why suffer twice?

The red woman could see the future in the fire, but all that Davos Seaworth ever saw were the shadows of the past:

The only regret is that you can’t see the future.

Perhaps there had never been anything at all to see.

We cannot know the mystery of the future.

She could just pack up and leave, but she does not visualize what's beyond ahead.

And you would never know if she had feet.

Because she fears the past she distrusts the future — it, too, will turn into the past.

The images play out for us events which are not present in our senses, and... create the future—a future that... may never come to exist in that form.