Quotes About Regret

Suddenly he knew all the things he should have said.

Ali hteti zadržati prošlost zna?i odre?i se budu?nosti.

Ravic emptied his glass. He got a package of cigarettes out of his pocket, took one out and lit it. His hands were not yet steady. He flung the match on the floor and ordered another calvados. That face, that smiling face which he thought he had just seen again—he must have been

One lost easiest what one held in one's arms— never what one left.

Ravic emptied his glass. He got a package of cigarettes out of his pocket, took one out and lit it. His hands were not yet steady. He flung the match on the floor and ordered another calvados. That face, that smiling face which he thought he had just seen again—he must have been mistaken.

But I also knew that there was no going back. One can never go back; nothing and no one is ever the same. All that remained was an occasional evening of sadness, the sadness that we all feel because everything passes and because man is the only animal who knows it.

His misfortune was that he saw a cherry tree in a garden.

Here I sit and there you are lying; we have so much to say, and we shall never say it.

He looked at me sideways. "You mean, and then mixed things up a bit? Never apologise. Never talk. Send flowers. No letter. Only flowers. They cover up everything. Even graves.

Regret is the most useless thing in the world. One cannot recall anything. And one cannot rectify anything. Otherwise we would all be saints. Life did not intend to make us perfect. Whoever is perfect belongs in a museum." Joan

Take twenty years of my life, comrade, and stand up - take more, for I do not know what I can even attempt to do with it now

SevmÉ™yÉ™n adam bu dünyaya mÉ™zuniyyÉ™tÉ™ gÉ™lmiÅŸ ölüdür. Onun da quruca ad? , doÄŸulduÄŸu ay?, ili var, vÉ™ssalam.

Q?sqancl?q deyilÉ™n ÅŸey iki sevÉ™ndÉ™n birinin qabaqca ölÉ™cÉ™yini bilÉ™n gündÉ™n baÅŸlam?rd?m? ?

Die Stille ist die Ursache dafür, daß die Bilder des Früher nicht so sehr Wünsche erwecken als Trauer – eine ungeheure, fassungslose Schwermut. Sie waren – aber sie kehren nicht wieder. Sie sind vorbei, sie sind eine andere Welt, die für uns vorüber ist.

das verlorene Bereitsein meiner Jugend

Wir stehen unter der Tür. «Komm!» sagt sie. Ich schüttle den Kopf. «Ich kann nicht. Heute nicht.» Sie schweigt und sieht mich an, gerade und klar, ohne Vorwurf und ohne Enttäuschung; aber etwas in ihr scheint auf einmal erloschen zu sein. Ich senke die Augen. Mir ist, als hätte ich ein Kind geschlagen oder eine Schwalbe getötet. «Heute nicht», sage ich. «Später. Morgen.«

GryzÄ™ poduszki, zaciskam pi??ci na ?elaznych prÄ™tach Å'ó?ka. Nie powinienem byÅ' tu przyje?d?a?. Tam byÅ'em zobojÄ™tniaÅ'y i czÄ™sto pozbawiony nadziei. Nigdy ju? nie wrócÄ™ do tego stanu. ByÅ'em ?oÅ'nierzem, a teraz jestem niczym wiÄ™cej, jak bólem z powodu siebie, z powodu matki, z powodu wszystkiego, co jest tak beznadziejne i bez koÅ"ca. Nie powinienem byÅ' jecha? na urlop.

The solicitor for whom he used to work in Cologne has written to tell him that women are now doing the work excellently and more cheaply, whereas Jupp, during his time in the army, will have grown out of office requirements, no doubt. He deeply regrets it, so he says; the times are hard. Best wishes for the future.

And even if these scenes of our youth were given back to us we would hardly know what to do . . . it would be like gazing at the photograph of a dead comrade; those are his features, it is his face, and the days we spent together take on a mournful life in the memory; but the man itself it is not. We could never regain the old intimacy with those scenes.

I implore them with my eyes: Speak to me—take me up—take me, Life of my Youth—you who are care-free, beautiful—receive me again— I wait, I wait. Images float through my mind, but they do not grip me, they are mere shadows and memories. Nothing—nothing—

Über diesen Feldern scheinen die verlorenen Jahre weiter zu bestehen, die Jahre, die nicht gewesen sind, die keine Ruhe finden – der Schrei der Jugend wurde zu früh erstickt, fand ein zu jähes Ende. In der Nacht brechen sie aus der Erde hervor wie geisterhafte Irrlichter.

Sela je za svoj sto i izvadila pribor za pisanje. - Ljubljeni, pisala je, ti sa nejasnim licem, nepoznati, koji nikad nisi došao, stalno o?ekivani, zar ne ose?aš kako vreme izmi?e? A onda je prestala da piše i odgurnu kasetu u kojoj su ležala mnoga neposlata pisma, pisma za koje nije znala adrese - pogleda u beli list pred sobom i pomisli: zašto pla?em? Time se ionako ništa ne može izmeniti...

Die Stille ist die Ursache dafür, dass die Bilder des Früher nicht so sehr Wünsche erwecken als Trauer - eine ungeheure, fassungslose Schwermut. Sie waren - aber sie kehren nicht wieder. Sie sind vorbei, sie sind eine andere Welt, die für uns vorüber ist.

Ja no kaut k? atsak?s, tad to vairs nepazaud?s, - Georgs saka. - Tikai idioti t? r?kojas.