Quotes About Regret

You'd forgive me for Claire - but not for killing your . . . men. He glanced at the two Craddocks, spotty as a pair of raisin puddings and - Grey's look implied - likely no brighter.

Then kiss me, Claire," he whispered. "And know that you are more to me than life, and I have no regret." I couldn't answer, but kissed him, first his hand, its crooked fingers warm and firm, and the brawny wrist of a sword-wielder, and then his mouth, haven and promise and anguish all mingled, and the salt of tears in the taste of him.

When you kissed me like that well maybe you weren't so sorry to be marrying me after all.

No, my Sassenach, he said softly. Open your eyes. Look at me. For that is your punishment, as it is mine. See what you have done to me, as I have done to you. Look at me.

When I'd lost him the first time, before Culloden, I'd remembered. Every moment of our last night together. Tiny things would come back to me through the years: the taste of salt on his temple and the curve of his skull as I cupped his head; the soft fine hair at the base of his neck, thick and damp in my fingers Ã¢â'¬Â¦ the sudden, magical well of his blood in dawning light when I'd cut his hand and marked him forever as my own. Those things had kept him by me.

Twenty-four years ago today, I married ye, Sassenach," he said softly. "I hope ye willna have cause yet to regret it.

Damn Frank!" he said ferociously. "Damn all Randalls! Damn Jack Randall, and damn Mary Hawkins Randall, and damn Alex Randall—er, God rest his soul, I mean," he amended hastily, crossing himself.

It's my fault, I said softly. I touched his face, the thick brows, wide mouth, and the sprouting stubble along the clean,long jaw. Mine. If I hadn't come...and told you what would happen... I felt a true sorrow for his corruption, and shared a sense of loss for the naïve, gallant lad he had been. And yet...what choice had either of us truly had, being who we were? I had had to tell him, and he had had to act on it.

You said you could tear me limb from limb without touching me, I said. You were right, damn you. I am sorry, he whispered again, but this time he reached for me, and held me tight against him. That I loved you? Don't be sorry for that, I said, my voice half muffled in his shirt. Not ever.

of Jamie. God, how could I do it? Leave him

Sometimes our best actions result in things that are most regrettable.

Well, of course he does, Sassenach," Jamie said, reaching for another slice of toast. "He left her his dog.

You will never satisfy a woman," she said softly. "Any woman who shared your bed will leave after no more than a single night, cursing you." "Very likely, madam," he said. "Good night.

It's strange," he said, "when he was alive, I didna pay him much heed. But once he was dead, the things he'd told me had a good deal more influence.

The love of you has led me to my salvation, and to what I thought was my peace, once I thought ye dead. ...And here you are. ...I shall have no peace while ye live, woman. ...Mind, I dinna say I regret it.

Might he ever see Jamie Fraser again? There was a good chance he would not. If chance did not kill him, cowardice might. The mania of confession was on him; best make the most of it. His quill had dried; he did not dip it again. I love you, he wrote, the strokes light and fast, making scarcely a mark upon the paper, with no ink. I wish it were not so. Then he rose, scooped up the scribbled papers, and, crushing them into a ball, threw them into the fire.

Sometimes our best actions result in things that are most regrettable. And yet you could not have acted otherwise.

James Fraser," he said. His eyes were fixed on William with a burning intensity, as though to absorb every vestige of a sight he would not see again. "Ye kent me once as Alex MacKenzie. At Helwater.

Post coitum omne animalium triste est

Colum's response came in a cutting tone. And while I've seldom found cause to thank the Lord, perhaps he's done better by me than I've thought. I've heard it said often enough that a man's brain stops workin' when his cock's standin', and now I think maybe I believe it.

Wengeful," she said. "Wery wengeful, 'e is. But oo'd blame him?" Oo, indeed? (A Fugitive Green)

But places held tight to the things that had happened in them, and to come again to a place you had once lived was to be brought face-to-face with what you had done there and who you had been.

You never knew, when you took farewell of someone, whether it might be the last time. The least you could do was say you loved them—and she wished she had. She pressed her fingertips to her lips and, as they swung out to go around the first curve, threw a kiss to the distant figure, still standing in the road.

Do you know," he said again, softly, addressing his hands, "what it is to love someone, and never—never!—be able to give them peace, or joy, or happiness?" He looked up then, eyes filled with pain. "To know that you cannot give them happiness, not through any fault of yours or theirs, but only because you were not born the right person for them?