Happy the man, and happy he alone, he who can call today his own: he who, secure within, can say, tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today. Be fair or foul or rain or shine, the joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine. Not Heaven itself upon the past has power, but what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.
The lofty pine is oftenest shaken by the winds; High towers fall with a heavier crash; And the lightning strikes the highest mountain.
With equal pace, impartial Fate Knocks at the palace, as the cottage gate.
Even-handed fate Hath but one law for small and great: That ample urn holds all men's names.
Drop the question of what tomorrow may bring, and count as profit every day that Fate allows you.
Fate with impartial hand turns out the doom of high and low; her capacious urn is constantly shaking the names of all mankind.
Leuconoe, close the book of fate, For troubles are in store, . . . . Live today, tomorrow is not.
Shun to seek what is hid in the womb of the morrow, and set down as gain in life's ledger whatever time fate shall have granted thee.
Each day that fate adds to your life, put down as so much gain.
Little folks become their little fate.
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