"It was many years ago, but not a week goes by that I do not think about it, and wonder what on earth was going through my mind. [...] I get sad, when I think of my own wicked acts, although I suppose if I weren’t sad about them it would mean I didn’t care. I’m glad that I care, so I’m a little happy that I’m sad. But in any case I will never see them again, so I will never get to apologize, which makes me sad all over again. When you apologize, it is a bit like reaching the last page of a book. The book is still there, with your wicked deed inside, but at least it is closed and put on a shelf. Every single thing I ought to have apologized for, and didn’t, is like a book lying open and unfinished. When I do get to apologize, I like to say of my bad deed, “That was not my finest hour,”and although “finest hour”is a phrase which means “a time when I was at my best,”I like to think of my finest hour as an actual hour in which I am at my most true and good. I don’t know when this hour is, whether it is in my future or if it went by unnoticed in my past, but I keep watch for those sixty shiny minutes. I know they are somewhere."
- Poison for Breakfast, Lemony Snicket