Quotes About Regret

Y cuando murió, comprendí que yo no lloraba por él, sino por todas las cosas que hacía. Lloraba porque nunca volvería a hacerlas.

it was suddenly so very wrong that he had begun to cry, not at death but at the thought of not crying at death, a silly empty man near a silly empty woman, while the hungry snake made her still more empty.

All of his books were burned in the Great Fire. That's thirty years ago—2006.

Birinin öldüÄŸünü bildiÄŸinizde, ard?nda b?rakt??? hava, yapt???n?z her hareketi, soluk alp veriÅŸinizi bile engeller.

And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn't crying for him at all, but for all the things he did.

She's nothing to me; she shouldn't have had books. It was her responsibility, she should've thought of that. I hate her. She's got you going and next thing you know we'll be out, no house, no job, nothing.

When you want to do a thing badly enough you lie to yourself. You say the other people are all wrong. Well, soon after I started killing people I realized they were just fools and I shouldn't be killing them. But it was too late. I couldn't go on with it then, so I came up here where I could lie to myself some more and get angry, to build it all up again.

And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn't crying for him at all, but for all the things he did. I was crying because he would never do them again...

Quando morì, io mi accorsi ad un tratto che non piangevo per lui, ma per tutte le cose che aveva fatto.

When it is a long damp November in my soul, and I think too much and perceive too little, I know it is high time to get back to that boy with the tennis shoes, the high fevers, the multitudinous joys, and the terrible nightmares.

It's a long way back to sunset, a far way on to dawn, so you summon all the fool things of your life, the stupid lovely things done with people known so very well who are now so very dead...

O youth! The strenght of it, the faith of it, the imagination of it! (...) I think of her with pleasure, with affection, with regret - as you would think of some one dead you have loved. I shall never forget her.... Pass the bottle.

Rich or poor, strong or weak, who among us has not begged God for a second chance?

I have been very happy—very fortunate—very proud,' she went on. 'Too fortunate. Too happy for a little while. And now I am unhappy for—for life.

After all, for a seaman, to scrape the bottom of the thing that's supposed to float all the time under his care is the unpardonable sin. No one may know of it, but you never forget the thump—eh? A blow on the very heart. You remember it, you dream of it, you wake up at night and think of it—years after—and go hot and cold all over.

I said; 'his example too. Yes, his example. I forgot that.' 'But I do not. I cannot—I

Time had past indeed: it had overtaken him and gone ahead. It had left him hopelessly behind with a few poor gifts: the iron grey hair, the heavy fatigue of the tanned face, two scars, a pair of tarnished shoulderstraps; one of those steady, reliable men who are the raw material of great reputations, one of those unaccounted lives that are buried without drums and trumpets under the foundations of monumental success.

He was easily sorry for people.

Hullunkurinen juttu, tämä elämä – tämä salaperäinen järjestelmä, jonka armoton logiikka toimii turhaa tarkoitusta varten. Enin mitä siltä voi toivoa saavansa on vähäinen itsetuntemus – joka tulee liian myöhään, satonaan lähtemätön katumus.

while under the unsteady hand of the statesman of Sambir the Trovatore fitfully wept, wailed, and bade good-bye to his Leonore again and again in a mournful round of tearful and endless iteration.

it is such a long time since we both turned saints, that you may have forgotten we, too, sinned in our time?

By all that's wonderful,it is the sea,I believe,the sea itself – or is it youth alone?Who can tell?But you here – you all had something out of life:money,love – whatever one gets on shore – and,tell me,wasn't that the best time,that time when we were young at sea;young and had nothing,on the sea that gives nothing,except hard knocks – and sometimes a chance to feel your strength – that only – what you all regret?

Stein lifted his hand. "And do you know how many opportunities I let escape; how many dreams I had lost that had come in my way?" He shook his head regretfully. "It seems to me that some would have been very fine — if I had made them come true. Do you know how many? Perhaps I myself don't know.

No better than a vagabond now' . . . the end of the cigarette smouldered between his fingers . . . 'without a single—single,' he pronounced slowly; 'and yet . . .' He paused; the rain fell with redoubled violence. 'Some day one's bound to come upon some sort of chance to get it all back again. Must!' he whispered, distinctly, glaring at my boots.