Quotes About Regret

The true tragedy of routinely spent life is that its wastefulness does not become apparent till it is too late.

Young love is a treasure truly wasted on the young,

A man with a missing eye after a man with a missing finger. There's a song in there somewhere, I reckon.

He tried to tell himself the dead are dead, but he knew Jenner had been right. Their ghosts stick in the minds of those that knew them, loved them, hated them. Those that killed them most of all.

It's a crime, when you think about how little time we get, that a man should ever be bored. When you are lying on your death bead, I expect you regret those weeks wasted more than your worst mistakes.

He felt a strange urge, right then, just to put his head down and walk past, off into the night and never look back. Then he wouldn't have to be the Bloody-Nine again... He could've gone far away, and started new, and been whoever he wanted. But he'd tried that once already, and it had done him no good. The past was always right behind him, breathing on his neck. It was time to turn around and face it.

I got bigger problems than that life hasn't turned out the way you hoped. You can harp on the past all you please, Dow, like some old woman upset cause her tits used to stay up by themselves, or you can shut your fucking hole and help me get on with things.

i want... i want a chance to do it all again. To do it... right.' Tears showed in the Old Man's eyes. 'How ever did it go so wrong, Temple? I had so many advantages. So many opportunities. All squandered. All slipped away like sand through a glass. So many disappointments...' 'Most of them you brought on yourself' 'Of course.' Cosca gave a ragged sigh. 'But they're the ones that hurt the worst.

It is easy to speak of the past, impossible to go there.

Recklessness didn't work out for me in the end." - Sand dan Glokta

To regret the methods, you have to win." He couldn't stay on his feet any longer, and he grunted as he took one lurching step and the padded socket squeezed at his stump. "Once you've won ... who cares about the methods?

Suddenly he felt that there had been so much he needed to say to his father. He had always supposed they would discuss the important things later. The profound things. But it would never happen. There had only been a fixed time in his presence, and Orso had pissed it all away talking about the weather, and there would be no more.

When men say things used to be better, they invariably mean they were better for them, because they were young, and had all their hopes intact. The world is bound to look a darker place as you slide into the grave.

Vengeance is a way of clinging to what we have lost. A wedge in the Last Door, and through the crack we can still glimpse the faces of the dead. We strain towards it with all our being, break every rule to have it, but when we clutch it, there is nothing there. Only grief.

His lip began to tremble and he covered his face with his hands. 'My fault . . . if something were to happen to her . . .' His shoulders shook silently, and Glokta raised his eyebrows. He was used to men crying in his presence of course. But I usually have at least to show them the instruments first.

I apologise, your Highness. Murder can be a painful business.

Vengeance is a fleeting thrill. The doubts, we carry to our graves.

It's an easy thing to make a man a carcass. He knew a thousand ways to do it. But once you've done it, there's no going back. One minute he's a man, all full up with hopes, and thoughts, and dreams. A man with friends, and family, and a place where he's from. Next minute he's mud.

You killed him all to bits, and robbed everyone who knew him, and cut all the good he might ever do out of the world.

Pardon me,' said Glokta, wiping his running eye with a finger, 'but I spent two years in the Emperor's prisons. I daresay, if I had known I'd be there half that long at the start, I would have made a more concerted effort to kill myself.

What do we leave behind but things not done, not said, not finished? Empty clothes, empty rooms, empty spaces in the ones who knew us? Mistakes never made right and hopes rotted down to nothing?

La mejor pradera es la que siempre se encuentra al otro lado del horizonte. El agua más dulce, la del siguiente río. El cielo más azul, el que siempre ves encima de otra colina. Y antes de que te des cuenta, una mañana te castañetean las articulaciones y no puedes dormir dos horas seguidas sin levantarte a orinar, y sólo entonces comprendes que el mejor lugar quedó atrás, y que no lo viste porque estabas obsesionado en seguir adelante.

Eszébe jutott Frieflif sörének íze, és megnyalta a szája szélét, de ekkor elkapta Rulf rosszalló pillantását, és egyb?l eszébe jutott Friedlif sörének íze, amikor éppen visszafelé jött.

That's the problem with mistakes. You can make'em in an instant. Years upon years spent tiptoeing about like a fool, then you take your eye away for a moment and ... Bang.