But, after all, one cannot, at sixty-two, look back down the...

But, after all, one cannot, at sixty-two, look back down the corridor of one's life and not have some doubts about the journey one has made. The doors which one opened are now all closed. The doors one did not dare open remain shut. The corridor is dark; only ahead is lighter. So one turns and proceeds in that direction. To go back is madness. To turn left or right, at this stage, is both exhausting and dangerous.