If she‘d known, she thinks, if she‘d known that she wasn‘t going to achieve financial comfort or even security as the years went by, if she‘d recognised the good times when she had them, she‘d have travelled more when she was young, she‘d have bought one of those train tickets, those passes, and gone everywhere, northern Norway to Sicily, Istanbul to County Clare. She‘d have taken a year out, several years out, before settling for Steve, worked her way round waitressing or whatever. If she‘d had the confidence then, if she‘d known how to apply for a passport and buy a ticket and board a plance when she was young enough to walk away. She should have gone to Paris and Vienna, to Venice. […] It probably doesn‘t matter, really.
aus: Sarah Moss: Summerwater, Picador, 2020, S. 4