A weird time in which we are alive. We can travel anywhere we want, even to other planets. And for what? To sit day after day, declining in morale and hope.

No reflection was to be allowed now, not one glance was to be cast back; not even one forward. Not one thought was to be given either to the past or the future. The first was a page so heavenly sweet, so deadly sad, that to read one line of it would dissolve my courage and break down my energy. The last was an awful blank, something like then world when the deluge was gone by.

The whole thing is quite hopeless, so it's no good worrying about tomorrow. It probably won't come.

Retrograde time is forward time which has passed the turning point; then as it turns back it is freighted with the load of accumulated knowledge. It is information rich. Logically, then, in its retrograde tracking, it would divest itself of its knowledge: teach rather than learn, so that when it arrived at the other end, it would be information poor, even info empty.

Life ... is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

I drew a deep breath, trying to think of something to say, then pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and gave it to him.
"Are you breathing, Ian?"
His mouth twitched a little.
"Aye, I htink so."
"That's all you have to do, for now.