Leuconoe, close the book of fate, For troubles are in store, . . . . Live today, tomorrow is not.
Books have their destinies.
Be not for ever harassed by impotent desire.
Fate with impartial hand turns out the doom of high and low; her capacious urn is constantly shaking the names of all mankind.
Even the worthy Homer sometimes nods.
The foolish are like ripples on water, For whatsoever they do is quickly effaced; But the righteous are like carvings upon stone, For their smallest act is durable.