Or - Perhaps - I Should Just

We're All Blessed And We're All Blighted, Chief Inspector," Said Finney. "everyday Each Of Us Does Our Sums. The Question Is, What Do We Count?

To Be Silent. In Hopes Of Not Offending, In Hopes Of Being Accepted. But What Happened To People Who Never Spoke, Never Raised Their Voices? Kept Everything Inside? Gamache Knew What Happened. Everything They Swallowed, Every Word, Thought, Feeling Rattled Around Inside, Hollowing The Person Out. And Into That Chasm They Stuffed Their Words, Their Rage.

After Spending Most Of Her Life Scanning The Horizon For Slights And Threats, Genuine And Imagined, She Knew The Real Threat To Her Happiness Came Not From The Dot In The Distance, But From Looking For It. Expecting It. Waiting For It. And In Some Cases, Creating It. Her Father Had Jokingly Accused Her Of Living In The Wreckage Of Her Future. Until One Day She'd Looked Deep Into His Eyes And Saw He Wasn't Joking. He Was Warning Her.

What Haunted People Even, Perhaps Especially, On Their Deathbed? What Chased Them, Tortured Them And Brought Some Of Them To Their Knees? And [he] Thought He Had The Answer. Regret. Regret For Things Said, Things Done, And Things Not Done. Regret For The People They Might Have Been. And Failed To Be.

Foolish People Are Never Harmless. Stupidity Accounts For As Many Crimes As Anger And Greed.