I don't wait for the calendar to figure out when I should live life.
Until two days ago what had driven him was the will to survive: deep, animal, full of rage but always part of him had not cared at all whether he lived or died. Now he did care, and very deeply, and so for the first time in a long time he was afraid. To love life is, of course, a wonderful thing, but not on this day of all days.
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its sweetness on the desert air.
The calender of the Theocracy of Muntab counts down, not up. No-one knows why, but it might not be a good idea to hang around and find out.
Tomorrow is only found in the calendar of fools.
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