When we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough. – Maurice Maeterlinck, Wisdom and Destiny, 1901, translated by Alfred Sutro

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As a precocious teen I dreamed of being Graham Greene. Well, as it turned out, I never wrote a great novel, sadly, and I never converted to Catholicism, happily, but I did do one thing he did. That is, in middle age I moved to a seaside town and got into a right barney with the local powers-that-be. – Julie Burchill
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