“He frowned at the distorted reflection of his wasted face in the bubbly glass of the water bottle. ‘The memories of our glories fade,’ he whispered, ‘and rot away into half-assed anecdotes, thin and unconvincing as some other bastard’s lies. The failures, the disappointment, the regrets, they stay as raw as the moments they happened. A pretty girl’s smile, never acted on. A petty wrong we let another take the blame for. A nameless shoulder that knocked us in a crowd that left us stewing for days, for months, forever.’ He curled his lip. ‘This is the stuff the past is made of. The wretched moments that make us who we are.’” - Nicomo Cosca, Best Served Cold by Joe Abercrombie”