Eheu!

The Reaper reaches out with his bony hand and taps me on my shoulder …

From time to time—and always at the strangest moments—my mortality violently squirms like a boiling eel: memento mori.

And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass
—Ezra Pound (thanks, Jeremy)

And Horace speaks from the dim past:

Eheu! Fugaces labuntur anni.

Times like these I can do without.