Status Updates From City at the End of Time

This was my first book by this author, and it was terrible. I'm not sure why I finished it.

Going mad out here would be less than pointless—like lighting a match inside a supernova.

Many things are conceivable, but impossible. Many more are conceivable, yet not probable. A very few are inconceivable—to us—yet still possible.

Time does not rush along as a point; it smears out like the passage of a brush a minute or an hour or a week wide, sometimes a month—a brush made of fate-laden fibers, painting different pictures for different people.