Don’t ask, it’s wrong to know,
what fates the gods us bestow.
Don’t seek for answers in stars divine,
endure and let your heart align.
Winters come, or this our last,
waves against the rocks are cast.
Pour your wine, drink it slow,
let your hopes ebb and go.
Time flows as we speak,
seize today, tomorrow’s far and bleak.
(Interpretation: MindMapJournal.com)
Original text:
Tu ne quaesieris—scire nefas—quem mihi, quem tibi
finem di dederint, Leuconoë, nec Babylonios
temptaris numeros. Ut melius quicquid erit pati,
seu plures hiemes, seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam,
quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare
Tyrrhenum. Sapias, vina liques, et spatio brevi
spem longam reseces. Dum loquimur, fugerit invida
aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.
(Horace, Odes, 1.11)
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