Measurements of Time

Our ability to measure and apportion time affords an almost endless source of comfort.
        -Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road, Page 225

I love the short, bizarre chapter in Revolutionary Road that opens with the sentence above. Especially the way the old man, who can't remember the date of his wife's death, and who, momentarily disoriented, panics when he feels the encroaching presence of infinity. "But soon the merciful valves and switches of his brain begin to do their tired work," Ford writes, "and 'The Spring of Nineteen-Ought-Six,' he is able to say. 'Or no, wait -- ' and his blood runs cold again as the galaxies revolve. 'Wait! Nineteen-Ought -- Four.'

Food for thought.