Horace, Odes 1.11

Horace, Odes 1.11

Let you not have asked–it is bad to know!–what end to me, what to you,
The gods have given, Leucippe, lest you may have tried the Babylonian
Calculations. How much better whatever will be is to be endured,
Whether Jove has assigned many winters or one final,
Which now softens the Tyrrhenian sea upon rocky shores:
Be wise, strain wines, and cut short far-reaching hopes, for the
Short space of life. As long as we speak, a grudging lifetime will
Be gone: enjoy today, with tomorrow trusted as little as possible.

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One response to “Horace, Odes 1.11

  1. Pingback: Horace and him. And maybe me, too. | Scripturient

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