Quotes About Regret

belki onun tepkisi de benimki gibi olur, diyordum içimden. belki bütün bu cinayetleri asl?nda olduÄŸu gibi bencilce yap?lm?? bir kötülük olarak görmek yerine kötü, ac?kl? ve hatta pitoresk bir vahÅŸet olarak görürdü. (''ben hayatta her ÅŸeyi yapt?m,'' diye böbürlenmez miydi yaÅŸl? tolstoy, ''bir adam bile öldürdüm.'')

the fuck-up from which I would never recover.

Forgive me for all the things I did but mostly for the things I did not.

Why hadn't I grabbed his arm and begged him one last time to get in the car, come on, fuck it Boris, just like skipping school, we'll be eating breakfast over cornfields when the sun comes up?

I don't expect you to understand but it's rough to be in love with the wrong person.

commonplace happiness that was lost when I lost her.

It's funny, but thinking back on it now, I realize that this particular point in time, as I stood there blinking in the deserted hall, was the one point at which I might have chosen to do something very different from what I actually did. But of course I didn't see this crucial moment then for what is was; I suppose we never do.

But walking through it all was one thing; walking away, unfortunately, has proved to be quite another, and though once I thought I had left that ravine forever on an April afternoon long ago, now I am not so sure.

It's funny, but thinking back on it now, I realize that this particular point in time, as I stood there blinking in the deserted hall, was the one point at which I might have chosen to do something very different from what I actually did.

It's a terrible thing, what we did," said Francis abruptly. "I mean, this man was not Voltaire we killed. But still. It's a shame. I feel bad about it.

Se penso, se mi figuro d'aver perso quest'occasione per paura o per comodo o per qualunque altro motivo, mi vengono i brividi.

Era melhor nunca ter nascido — nunca ter desejado nada, nunca ter esperado nada.

Well I have to say I personally have never drawn such a sharp line between 'good' and 'bad' as you. For me: that line is often false. The two are never disconnected. One can't exist without the other. As long as I am acting out of love, I feel I am doing best I know how. But you-wrapped up in judgment, always regretting the past, cursing yourself, blaming yourself, asking 'what if', 'what if'. 'Life is cruel.' 'I wish I had died instead of.

I read this over today, for the first time since I wrote it. It's full of nostalgia, every word loaded with it, although at the time I wrote it I thought I was being 'objective.' Nostalgia for what? I don't know. Because I'd rather die than have to live through any of that again. And the 'Anna' of that time is like an enemy, or like an old friend one has known too well and doesn't want to see.

Nostalgia for what? I don't know. Because I'd rather die than have to live through any of that again. And the 'Anna' of that time is like an enemy, or like an old friend one has known too well and doesn't want to see.

Aber eins weiß ich schon jetzt. Worum wir trauern, wenn uns Angehörige sterben, das sind die ungeführten Gespräche.

It's painful thinking of the people one has been cruel to.

Delia picked at the raw sores of her conscience...Drunk or sober, Delia lived in the small town in her heart, ignoring the world in which all her love had turned to grief.

he had never imagined she would leave him for messing around with girls he would never have married and didn't love.

But not to our Muffin.

Philippa allowed polite regret to inform every muscle. 'Whatever day it occurs,' she said, 'I feel I have a previous engagement.' 'May I congratulate you,' he said agreeably, 'on your evident popularity.' 'Anything I can do,' Philippa said, 'to save you from the exhaustions of pluralism.

Leaving him was less like leaving even the most simple of her friends in Flaw Valleys, and more like losing unfinished a manuscript, beautiful, absorbing and difficult, which she had long wanted to read.

Philippa drew a deep breath, and found relief in expelling it. 'Do you think,' she said carefully, 'that someone is going to be goaded into doing something soon?' There was a long pause. 'I think,' said Jerott at length, equally carefully, 'that someone is going to the court of Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent, and someone else is going to Flaw Valleys, England, to Mother.' Which summed it up, Philippa supposed, with regret.

I'm sorry,' said Jerott, his eyes elsewhere. What was the attraction here, in God's name? Not the little woman in the stained gown, surely? Or the plain fourteen-year-old who had been so courageous the night Trotty died?