Quotes About Regret

She had paid for these mistakes. (Had she?) But still, you are never fully acquitted of any mistake that involves another, and so the Intern had not been fully acquitted of her mistakes, and her shame of such mistakes.

If I could open a vein. Not to inject any shit, I will never weaken like that again, but just to feel the kick of it, the old memory. So this numbness lifts. So I could get back there easier.

NO KISS FORGOTTEN; it resides in the memory as in the flesh, and so Katya many times felt the press of Marcus Kidder's warm mouth on hers in the days and especially in the nights following. And her heartbeat quickened in protest: How could you! Kiss him! That old man! Kiss him! Let him put his arms around you ad kiss you and kiss him back! The old man's mouth and Katya Spivak's mouth! How could you.

Still, I am angry with him. I am very angry with him. With my poor dead defenseless husband, I am furious as I was rarely—perhaps never—furious with him, in life. How can I forgive you, you've ruined both our lives.

You can think of your life as the mistakes you made that catch up with you finally.

If Hannah knew where he was! – frankly eyeing a hatcheck girl his faughter Geraldine's age, noting her legs in black patterned stockings, her feet in black stiletto-heeled shoes, feeling the first dim stirrings of desire so faint and so sad it was like hearing a telephone ringing and ringing in a distant room you couldn't hope to get to and if you did the call wouldn't be for you.

Remembering backward is the easy thing. If you could remember forward, you could save yourself…

Why I came to have such quarrels with my mother, to hate and wish dead my mother, I don't know. There was hardly anything she ever told me didn't turn out to be true.

Della riendo, diciendo entre jadeos: «¿De qué vale ser una perdida y una puta si a los treinta años no tienes nada?». Y a Norma Jeane le faltaban

My crappy-kid's life. It was mostly a shitty life wasn't it, OK but I miss it.

All your life, you yearn to return to what has been. You yearn to return to those you have lost. You will do terrible things to return, which no one else can understand.

She had never been drunk before, but believed that that was what had happened to her. She'd been drinking something made of orange juice and she'd been warned, but had not listened or could not remember having listened, and could not remember who'd warned her. She did not wish to name any names and to involve her friends or anyone for no one was to blame except possibly herself.

They said, Tell us. She said, Only what I know. They said, Tell us, so that justice can be executed. She said, I was drinking. I was to blame. I don't remember. How can I give testimony against him!

The last time I saw Paris, my heart was definitely not young and gay. Bitter and disillusioned would be more like it.

If you listen to your fears, you will die never knowing what a great person you might have been.

Shit... you're not coming with me, are you? [Butch to Vishous] I don't feel like killing anyone anymore. Oh. Good. The idea that you might only cripple the guy makes me feel a fuck of a lot better about leaving you here.

You've always had me.. and my heart. My soul. Everything. I wish it hasn't taken this long for me to man up. That family of mine..nearly killed me. And not just thanks to that Honor Guard of theirs.

There is no more disastrous mania, no more dangerous whim, than the speculation over roads not taken.

the nostalgia for things that weren't yet lost.

No hay manía más funesta, ni capricho más peligroso, que la especulación o la conjetura sobre los caminos que no tomamos.

Uno es feliz hasta que la caga de cierta forma, luego no hay manera de recuperar eso que uno era antes

Hace calof aquí- dije. -Si, y esto no es nada- me contestó el otro. Cálmese. Ya lo sentirá mas fuerte cuando lleguemos a Comala. Aquello está sobre las brasas de la tierra, en la mera boca del infierno. Con decirle que muchos de los que allí se mueren, al llegar al infierno regresan por su cobija.

Eso es malo. Cada suspiro es como un sorbo de vida del que uno se deshace.

Salió fuera y miró el cielo. Llovían estrellas. Lamentó aquello porque hubiera querido ver un cielo quieto. Oyó el canto de los gallos. Sintió la envoltura de la noche cubriendo la tierra. La tierra, "este valle de lágrimas".