I have had the world lie beneath my clumsy boots and saw the red sun slip over the horizon after the dark Antarctic winter.

I have been given more than my share of excitement, beauty, laughter and friendship.

But for me the most rewarding moments have not always been the great moments - for what can surpass a tear on your departure, joy on your return, or a trusting hand in yours?

Ed Hillary

Let me tell you what happens when you cook down the syrup of loss over the open fire of sorrow: It solidifies into something else. Not grief, like you would expect, or even regret. No, it gets as thick as paste, black as ash; yet it isn't until you dip your finger in and feel that sharp taste dissolving on your tongue that you realise that this is anger in its purest form, unrefined; a substance to be weighed and measured and spread.

Jodi Picoult, Vanishing Acts, pg 87