Quotes About Regret

Tu sais, quand j'étais jeune, les gens avaient peur de la guerre atomique. C'était une peur formidable. Mourir à cent ans dans le brasier d'un gigantesque champignon nucléaire, mourir avec la planète... Ça avait tout de même de la gueule. Au lieu de quoi, je vais mourir comme une vieille pomme de terre pourrie. Et tout le monde s'en foutra.

God a-damn me the day I chose to enter this hellish so-called marriage instead of following my Morris-loving, sweet-loving, full-blooded, hot-blooded, pumping-rumping, throbbing organ of an uncontainable, unrestrainable, undetainable man-loving heart .

Dominique began to regret allowing Nzinga to do everything and make decisions for her she started to yearn to do the housework herself, yearn to cook, to clean, to do a job that was more intellectually demanding her life was becoming empty of purpose other than to love Nzinga unconditionally, and, increasingly, obey her even the simplest things became a source of difficulty

She slipped free crusty pies filled with apple-flavored lumps of sugar to the runaway rent boys she befriended who operated around the station With no idea that in years to come she'd be attending their funerals They didn't realize unprotected sex meant a dance with death Nobody did

Penelope found it hard to imagine her mother had once been so rebellious and gregarious she felt sorry for her having to choose between a career or a family which seemed terribly unfair

My father had a similar saying. He said that in heaven there's a huge cake reserved solely for married people who've never once regretted getting married. The cake's never been touched.

A remembrance can mean nothing to the one remembered; it can only remind the ones left behind how little they did while you were still alive.

Sometimes the memory of happiness cannot stay true because it ended unhappily..

Is this what sadness is all about? Is it what comes over us when beautiful memories shatter in hindsight because the remembered happiness fed not just on actual circumstances but on a promise that was not kept?

I thought that if the right time gets missed, if one has refused or been refused something for too long, it's too late, even if it is finally tackled with energy and received with joy. Or is there no such thing as "too late"? Is there only "late," and is "late" always better than "never"? I don't know.

I took all the blame. I admitted mistakes I hadn't made, intentions I'd never had. Whenever she turned cold and hard, I begged her to be good to me again, to forgive me and love me. Sometimes I had the feeling that she hurt herself when she turned cold and rigid. As if what she was yearning for was the warmth of my apologies, protestations, and entreaties. Sometimes I thought she just bullied me. But either way, I had no choice.

Or is there no such thing as 'too late'? Is there only 'late' and is 'late' always better than 'never'? I don't know.

Almost eight years, and Edison had only slipped and called her a nigger once. She'd been in no hurry to forgive him for it, but he'd apologized profusely—and had cried and played Billie Holiday's "Strange Fruit" over and over again on his piano before she let him back into their bedroom.

The motives for sitting up nights on end with the dying are often dubious. A repentant son who never visited his mother more than once a year now takes the opportunity to punish himself for his neglect by not stirring from her side for nights on end, though the poor woman is hardly there any longer in her dying body. For just as at birth we die head first.

For can you think how it would be, to never, never hear a meadow lark sing again...?

Poor Christine! She had long ago spent the days of her young motherhood in the marketplace, and now that they were all squandered, she had so few pleasant things left to remember. So she crouched low over the dull embers of a few half-memories in order to warm her old heart.

Two of the upstairs windows were boarded up, as if the house had closed its eyes in shame and whispered, Look what's become of me. As I stood surveying the property and wondering how it had come to such ruin, I realized that unless I pulled myself together and found a way to ground myself into my life, I could end up just as sad and empty as that old house.

Nineteen words I counted them. That's all he had to say to me. Nineteen meaningless little words. And that's when my father died to me--right there in the driveway.

She will be mired in responsibilities that are not of her own making. She will charm, and beneath her charm, she will regret.

Use your imagination as an arrow hurtling back toward what might have been or will never be.

I heard she married some hunter, well, they all marry hunters, so did I, ha! You're just as foolish I expect, young girls are, some lad catches your eye and there's your whole life gone, snap, a lap full of babies and grandbabies and it's all over, you're an old woman knitting at the hearth and that's it, that's it!' I could not wait to get out of there. She shrank my whole life to the size of a poppy seed, and ate it.

I remember watching my mother emerge from her bedroom on a night when she and my father were going out, all dressed up in heels and hose, a skirt or dress that cinched her waist, her pearl choker like a ring around the moon. I'd watch her from my perch in the kitchen, walking trancelike as she fastened the back of an earring. I'd like to be small again, just for a little while, and feel close to her. I never really appreciated my mother. I never appreciated myself.

never leave a loved one with an angry countenance. Anything could happen in seconds, and how would a person feel if something happened to a dear one, and you had last spoken to him or her in anger.

You tempt me to telephone Matron and ask her to let you have the afternoon off.' He spoke lightly and Sarah felt a surprising regret that he couldn't possibly mean it. 'That sort of thing happens in novels, never in real life. I can imagine Matron's feelings!