Quotes About Regret

What I want back is what I was Before the bed, before the knife, Before the brooch-pin and the salve Fixed me in this parenthesis; Horses fluent in the wind, A place, a time gone out of mind.

Living with her was like living with my own coffin: Yet I still depended on her, though I did it regretfully.

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. [...] I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet

My apologies to past loves for treating the latest as the first.

When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone ...

And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor - And this, and so much more? -

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, and I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, and in short, I was afraid.

I should have been a pair of ragged claws/ Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

What might have been and and what has been Point to one end, which is always present. Footfalls echo in the memory Down the passage which we did not take Towards the door we never opened...

She turns and looks a moment in the glass, Hardly aware of her departed lover; Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass: "Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over". When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone, She smoothes her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone

I grow old...I grow old... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk along the beach. I have the heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think they will sing to me.

Well! and what if she should die some afternoon, Afternoon grey and smoky, evening yellow and rose; Should die and leave me sitting pen in hand With the smoke coming down above the housetops; Doubtful, for a while Not knowing what to feel or if I understand Or whether wise or foolish, tardy or too soon . . . Would she not have the advantage, after all? This music is successful with a "dying fall" Now that we talk of dying— And should I have the right to smile?

I sometimes wonder if that is what Krishna meant — Among other things — or one way of putting the same thing: That the future is a faded song, a Royal Rose or a lavender spray Of wistful regret for those who are not yet here to regret, Pressed between yellow leaves of a book that has never been opened.

I grow old ... I grow old ... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me.

When lovely lady stoops to folly And finds too late that men betray, She brushes her hair with automatic hand And puts a record on the gramophone.

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, And in short, I was afraid. And

I am the old house With the noxious smell and the sorrow before morning, In which all past is present, all degradation Is unredeemable.

Nessun maggior dolore Che di ricordar del tempo felice Nella miseria. . . .

The more rapacious, to take what I never had; The more unpardonable, to taunt me with not having it. Had you taken what I had, you would have left me at least a memory Of something to live upon.

Ridiculous the waste sad time Stretching before and after

Believe me, Michael: Those who flee from the past will always lose the race. I know this from experience. When you reach your goal, Your imagined paradise of success and grandeur, You will find your past failures waiting there to greet you.

What might have been and what has been Point to one end, which is always present. Footfalls echo in the memory Down the passage which we did not take Towards the door we never opened.

God grant me a quick honorable death, Isgrimnur prayed, and never let me be one of those old fools who sits by the campfire telling the young men that things will never be as good as they once were.

Of all the songs we Zida'ya sing, she (Aditu) murmured, the closest to our hearts are those which tell of things lost. Perhaps that is because none of us can show something's value until it is gone, said Josua.