Horace Ode 1.11

You, do not ask—it is not right to know—what end for me, what for you the gods have given, Leuconoe, nor try Babylonian numerology. How much better to endure whatever will be, whether more winters or the last Jupiter has allotted, which now wears out the Tyrrhenian Sea on the rocks opposite. Be wise, strain the wine, and cut long hope back to our short time. While we speak, envious time will have flown: seize the day, trust as little as possible to the future.