Today, I randomly pulled out one of my many old notebooks. It was one where I would write down pieces or excerpts from whatever I was reading at that time, and is about ten years old.
Passage therefrom:
"She was so lucky. So few people really had the love of their lives with them. Most people yearned for lost chances. For opportunities missed. It would be a stupid woman who would give away one moment of this time by fretting and agonizing and trying to redefine the past"
(The Glass Lake, Maeve Binchy)
