You know what the greatest tragedy is in the whole world?
It’s all the people who never find out what it is they really want to do or what it is they’re really good at. It’s all the sons who become blacksmiths because their fathers were blacksmiths. It’s all the people who could be really fantastic flute players who grow old and die without ever seeing a musical instrument, so they become bad ploughmen instead. It’s all the people with talents who never even find out. Maybe they are never even born in a time when it’s even possible to find out.
It’s all the people who never get to know what it is they can really be. It’s all the wasted chances
“No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away—until
the clock wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished
its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of
someone’s life is only the core of their actual existence.”
Pratchett - Reaper Man
Its been a year already, but the ripples have yet to fade.
But like, there would be regular balls and such. ANd you’ve got Sam Vimes dancing with Sybill, very sedate, very formal, very conservative, because this is definitely not Sam Vimes’ idea of fun (well, dancing with Sybill is surprisingly pleasant and and he didn’t mind learning but it’s different when you’re in front of the posh nobs). So Sam and Sybill, and all the other couples, dancing very normal.