Quotes About Regret

I do not know what I regret. I sit with my pen, and cannot find an end to that sentence. I do not know what we may do, to know another better.

I went to him & put my Hand upon his Shoulder. Said he to me, "God forgive me. Her Name — I never knew her Name." Which meant not a Jot to me — and yet my Heart was the Thing that broke.

Someday I'll give it to her. When everything is better. The natural history of her life, sketched out, because nothing means as much until it has vanished.

Y lo peor es que hiciste que se disculpara. [...] La hiciste pedir perdón por su enfermedad. Por su valor. Hiciste que le diera vergüenza morirse.

People want to forget. You can't blame them.

He was glaring at me. "I'm sorry," I said. He asked, "For what?" "For what I did." "What about what you didn't do?

You made her apologize for sickness. For her courage. You made her feel sorry for dying.

I do not know what I regret. I sit with my pen, and cannot find an end to that sentence.

People only live once

I know that throughout my life I have struggled to forgive my father. Now, as I get older, I wish most of all that he had been able to find a way to forgive himself.

His sonata for piano and violin, he first piece of music he had written in twenty-three years, was finished, he could not do more. He made a clean copy, isnged his name and wrote the date, May, 27, 1989, and the title, The Sun Shines on the People's Square. He put the copy in an envelope to send to Kai. [...] He saw himself walking out of the room, this alleyway, this city, without turning back. The following morning, he put on his uniform and returned to work

I never hated you. My anger was never with you, but with the little hell my heart had put me in. The anger always passed. I never regretted loving you. If I had gone to my grave never kissing you or touching you, I still would not have thought it a wasted love.

Was there anything more cruel than to want something after years of not wanting, and to know you cannot have it?

Achilles' eyes lift. They are bloodshot and dead. "I wish he had let you all die.

I had been old and stern for so long, carved with regrets and years like a monolith. But that was only a shape I had been poured into. I did not have to keep it.

We are sorry, we are sorry. Sorry you were caught, I said. Sorry that you thought I was weak, but you were wrong.

I lay back and tried not to think of the minutes passing. Just yesterday we had a wealth of them. Now each was a drop of heartsblood lost.

The last thing I think is: Achilles.

Priam's eyes find the other body, mine, lying on the bed. He hesitates a moment. 'That is --- your friend?' 'Philtatos,' Achilles says, sharply. Most beloved. 'Best of men, and slaughtered by your son.

Later Achilles would play the lyre, as Chiron and I listened. My mother's lyre. He had brought it with him. 'I wish I had known,' I said, the first day when he showed it to me. 'I almost did not come, because I did not want to believe it.' He smiled. 'Now I know how to make you follow me everywhere.

Do not try to take my regret from me.

That old sickening feeling returned: that every moment of my life I had been a fool.

I do not know this man, I think. He is no one I have ever seen before. My rage towards him is hot as blood. I will never forgive him. I imagine tearing down our tent, smashing the lyre, stabbing myself in the stomach and bleeding to death. I want to see his face broken with grief and regret. I want to shatter the cold mask of stone that has slipped down over the boy I knew.

I could not make him a god," she says. Her jagged voice, rich with grief. /But you made him./