We ourselves will never know much of perpetuity. But we can get a faint inkling of what it’s like.

“Had I done the right thing by not telling her? Maybe not. Who on earth wanted t…”

“Words have all died in the hollow of time, piling up soundlessly at the darkbot…”

“How many Sundays – how many hundreds of Sundays like this – lay ahead of me? “Q…”

“If they invent a car that runs on stupid jokes, you could go far.”