There is something in the decay of nature that awakens thought, even in the most trifling mind.
It's one of the most liberating things I experience in writing - letting yourself get rid of a gesture or character or plot point that always nagged, even if you couldn't admit to yourself that it did.
Almost everyone thinks they are a good person, but the question you should be asking is, am I good enough to go to Heaven? How would you know?

