Don't seek, my friend, we cannot say
What end's in store for you, for me:
Don't trust in vague astrology.
Better to shoulder what will be,
Whether you soon will die, or stay
To watch the shore exhaust the sea.
So drink some wine while your hours flee,
Put small trust in posterity,
And prune your hopes — but pluck the day.
Peter Saint-Andre > Writings > Ancient Fire