Ah, absolutely. I once toured the necropolis of the Etruscan city of Cerveteri and the whole corridor felt like a ledger of grudges. The walls are covered with funerary stelae that list not just names but the regrets—broken vows, unfulfilled marriages, a soldier’s fear of dying alone—etched in stone. Each inscription is like a whispered confession that the architecture itself amplifies. I always take a meticulous inventory of those regrets before I leave, just so I can reference them later in my archives. It’s almost like the tombs are reminding us to keep proper records, even in death.