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Horace, Ode 1.11
Stop searching for—it’s forbidden to know—the bounds the gods have set for you and me, Leuconoë. Leave off these Babylonian calculations! It’s better to endure whatever comes. Whether Jupiter’s given us many more winters or this is the final one—which now smashes the strength of the Tyrrhenian sea on the rocks—be prudent; water your wine; since life is short, scale back your anticipation to a short size. Even now, while we speak, spiteful time speeds away: seize the day, placing as little trust as you can in the future.
