If I could open my mouth wide enough for a marching band to march out

Tu ne quaesieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi
finem di dederint, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios
temptaris numeros. ut melius, quidquid erit, pati.
seu pluris 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

Leuconoe, don't ask — it's dangerous to know —
what end the gods will give me or you. Don't play with Babylonian
fortune-telling either. Better just deal with whatever comes your way.
Whether you'll see several more winters or whether the last one
Jupiter gives you is the one even now pelting the rocks on the shore with the waves
of the Tyrrhenian sea--be smart, drink your wine. Scale back your long hopes
to a short period. Even as we speak, envious time
is running away from us. Gather the day, there is nothing else beyond that.