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“ ”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.
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"You too?" She asked Ruth. "How do your poems start out?"
"They start as a lump in the throat," she said.
"We all do stupid, cruel things as children. I remember I once took a neighbor's dog and shut it in my house, then told the little girl her dog had been picked up by the dog catcher and destroyed. I still wake up at three in the morning seeing her face. I tracked her down about ten years ago to say I was sorry but she'd been killed in a car accident."
"You have to forgive yourself", said Gamache, holding up Being.
"You're right, of course. But maybe I don't want to. Maybe that's something I don't want to lose. My own private hell. Horrible, but mine."
Ruth believed in precycling. An evolution on recycling. She made use of things before people threw them out.