This is Year Zero.

I look for the end of the future, but it never ceases to arrive. 

In time history must become a fairy tale—it will become again what it was in the beginning.

The celestial machine is to be likened not to a divine organism but rather to a clockwork.

We wish away whole years, and travel through time as through a country filled with many wild and empty wastes, which we would fain hurry over, that we may arrive at those several little settlements or imaginary points of rest which are dispersed up and down in it.