I read these posts and remember the scene in "A Little Night Music" when Madame Armfeldt momentarily questions her lifelong haughty pose (which has never brought her love:
"When I was your age, I wanted everything - the moon - jewels, yachts, villas on the Riviera. And I got 'em too, - all for the good they did me. There was a Croatian Count. He was my first lover. I can see his face now - such eyes, and a mustache like a brigand. He gave me a wooden ring. It had been in his family for centuries, it seemed, but I said to myself: a wooden ring? What sort of man would give you a wooden ring, so I tossed him out right there and then. And now - who knows? He might have been the love of my life."