Apologies, Mrs. Touchett intimated, were of no more use to her than bubbles, and she herself never dealt in such articles. One either did the thing or one didn't, and what one "would" have done belonged to the sphere of the irrelevant, like the idea of a future life or of the origin of things.

I can't stand the site of men looking lustfully at you baby because they want to reap where they did not sow.

The passage of time will usually extract the venom from most things and render them harmless. Then, sooner or later, I forget about them.

Written By Haruki Murakami

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