Don't you ask, Leuconoe - the gods do not wish it to be known-
what end they have given to me or to you, and don't meddle with
Babylonian horoscopes. How much better to accept whatever comes,
whether Jupiter gives us other winters or whether this is our last
now wearying out the Tyrrhenian sea on the pumice stones
opposing it. be wise, strain the wine and cut back long hope
into a small space. Even as we speak, envious time
flies past. Harvest the day and leave as little as possible for tomorrow.
Horace, Tu ne quaesieris, Odes 1.11, translation by David West
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