“February is pitiless, and it is boring. That parade of red numerals on its page adds up to zero: birthdays of politicians, a holiday reserved for rodents, what kind of celebrations are those? The only bubble in the flat champagne of February is Valentine’s Day. It was no accident that our ancestors pinned Valentine’s Day on February’s shirt: he or she lucky enough to have a lover in frigid, antsy February has cause for celebration, indeed.”

“The only bubble in the flat champagne of February is Valentine’s Day. It was no accident that our ancestors pinned Valentine’s Day on February’s shirt: he or she lucky enough to have a lover in frigid, antsy February has cause for celebration, indeed.”

“I don’t want to die, said February. This is what is going to happen, said the girl who smelled of honey and smoke. She walked over to February and whispered something in his ear.I hope that works, said February. I really do.I’d do it for you. I’d change our entire story if I could, she said. Our story, said February, is all wrong.”

“Jarod Kintz Day—it’s not just my birthday, but it should be a holiday that’s mandatory to celebrate, punishable by death if you don’t. It’ll be a holiday that honors freedom.
”

“Last February had 29 days. It wasn’t a leap year, but me and 28 of my clones each remember that month as if it were a day.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, man. A birthday is not so much about celebrating you age. It’s about celebrating life itself. It is a BIRTHDAY. You celebrate the fact that you were lucky enough to be born into this crazy world. Who cares if the wheel has spun yet another round? Cheer up, man. You are alive.”