Time, I've found, can't be wasted. Saved, either. Regrets? Well, sir, as much as I hate to contradict myself, regrets are a waste of time. My only regret is that I didn't love harder. Purer. More often. Without conditions and expectations.
What a fine drunk I would have made but I'm no good at drinking. I've been called a lightweight. That's probably about right. When I see camaraderie in barrooms, I'm jealous.
Church won't quite do, either. Oh, I'm sure there's one that's right for me out there somewhere. If there is, it probably wouldn't fit me in a month or two. To twist Groucho a bit, "Any church that would have me, ought to be ashamed of itself."
Hurry up, heroes.