Quotes About Regret

I am the one who has done wrong. Always. All my life, it seems. Bringing misery to everyone I have ever loved.

I did nothing to defend my own child, and now I fear that she will never recover.

She had lost him. It mattered not that she still loved him against all reason, and that perhaps he regretted losing her. The truth was that they could never revive their relationship.

I want you back, he said. And he abandoned himself to the words he was speaking.

She wished he had stayed half a world away for the rest of his life.

But he had not been able to go to her. That was no longer an option in his life.

My life came to an end the day I left you, he whispered fiercely. I have lived in hell since then. I do not need to die, Becky. Nothing could be worse than what I have lived. If you wished to see me punished, know that your wish has been granted a thousandfold.

Her heart ached on.

Ah, what we do to destroy ourselves, Philippa thought. Yet so many of us do it.

It was dread. A dread of going back into that other, long-dead life—or what he had thought was long-dead.

She could feel the old pain and despised herself for allowing it still to hurt. But how she had loved him!

Had he really held her and kissed her, not in anger, but in real need? Had there been tears in his eyes when he first lifted her against him? Had he called her 'darling,' as he had done during those days in Devon? And he had been going to take her to bed. She could have made love with Robert last night. Her needle paused above her work as shivers sizzled up her arms and along her spine.

He was fully aware that it was already too late for simple friendship between them.

He had even suggested that they get married without further delay. She often wondered what would have happened with their lives if she had said yes.

Good-bye, Henry, he said. You are young. You will forget this episode soon and be happy again as you were when I met you. I am sorry that I have saddened you, my love.

No, she must not begin to doubt. She hated him. She hated him because he had brought turmoil into her life again. And emotion. And bitter regret for all that might have been. She hated him.

He would be the very last person she would want to see during the rest of her lifetime.

If only she had not gone to London for that particular Season when she was eighteen. If only she had not attended that particular ball at its start. If only . . . But life was made up of seemingly small, unimportant, chance events that together created the pattern of one's existence. There was no changing the pattern of hers. It had led her to this very difficult moment.

If only he had been any other man in the world.

You are right, he said, his words slightly slurred. I have been drinking. And drink makes me sentimental. Tomorrow I shall be able to see you as you really are again and I shall despise myself for having detained you here. But for tonight, Elizabeth, I find you infinitely desirable.

I am not afraid of being single. I am afraid of making a marriage I would regret.

The memories themselves had been bad enough. It was almost unbearably painful to remember how close they had come to giving themselves to each other, how deep and lasting their love had seemed to be. It was impossible to understand how he could have changed so utterly and in such a short time. She shuddered at the memory of his coldness and callousness . . .

It is as well for him, he said, that he is already dead. He would suffer this night if he were still alive.

She raised her eyes to his. To the golden boy who had lit her world for a couple of months one springtime long ago—so little happiness to occupy the space of twenty-eight years.