Quotes About Regret

You know the passage where Scarlett voices her happiness that her mother is dead, so that she can't see what a bad girl Scarlett has become? Well, that's me.

A lucky thing Eva Perón was. She died at 32. I'm already 45.

I Feel Sorry for the Garden No one is thinking about the flowers No one is thinking about the fish No one wants to believe that the garden is dying that the garden's heart has swollen under the sun that the garden is slowly forgetting its green moments …

Don't cry, I'm sorry to have deceived you so much, but that's how life is.

He who does not regret the break-up of the Soviet Union has no heart; he who wants to revive it in its previous form has no head.

I have some rules of my own. One of them is never to regret anything. Over time, I came to the conclusion that this was the right thing to do. As soon as you start regretting and looking back, you start to sour. You always have to think about the future. You always have to look ahead. Of course you have to analyze your past mistakes, but only so that you can learn and correct the course of your life.

The photos I took in Afghanistan are lying in front of me. I peer into the faces of those who were with me there and who are so far away from me now, into the faces of those who were dying right next to me and those who were hiding behind my back. I can make these photos larger or smaller, darker or lighter. But what I can't do is bring back those who are gone forever.

We didn't believe in tomorrow. We we couldn't forget what had happened yesterday.

On one of his comrades depicted in the book:] "Sasha was my friend … Like me, he was 19. But he didn't come home. He was killed 12 hours after this photo was taken.

How can I tell her to be glad she's alive, when she knows she'll never walk on the desert again, or find me a diamond for some patron's earring, never gentle another horse, never make love?" "I don't know," Smoke said. "But if you and Alex see her life as a tragedy, that's what it will be.

She] had a habit of putting things in that way, as though she had accidently set your house on fire and had no choice now but to stand back and watch it burn.

My purpose, my whole life, had been to love him and be with him, to make him happy. I didn't want to cause any unhappiness now—in that way, I decided it was probably better than he wasn't here to see this, though I missed him so much at that moment the ache of it was as bad as the strange pains in my belly.

My purpose, my whole life, had been to love him and be with him, to make him happy. I didn't want to cause him any unhappiness now—in that way, I decided it was probably better that he wasn't here to see this, though I missed him so much at that moment the ache of it was as bad as the strange pains in my belly.

No. My fault. I didn't. Have to. Smoke.

If Falstaff had stuck to martinis, he'd be with us today.

At Dirty Dick's and Sloppy Joe'sWe drank our liquor straight,Some went upstairs with Margery,And some, alas, with Kate.

The stars are dead. The animals will not look.We are left alone with our day, and the time is short, and History to the defeatedMay say Alas but cannot help or pardon.

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

God may reduce you on Judgment Day to tears of shame, reciting by heart the poems you would have written, had your life been good. –

What makes old age hard to bear is not the failing of one's faculties, mental and physical, but the burden of one's memories.

We know their dream; enough To know they dreamed and are dead; And what if excess of love Bewildered them till they died?

Never to have lived is best, ancient writers say; Never to have drawn the breath of life, never to have looked into the eye of day; The second best's a gay good night and quickly turn away.

You will forget me soon. Oh dear one, hate me rather than forget.

I Sing what was lost and dread what was won, I walk in a battle fought over again