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.
"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)