Quotes About Regret

I reflected that I had already, with him, hurt myself beyond repair.

more charming than that over there, you know!"  She made me very welcome, but her son had told her about the Patagonia, for which she was sorry, as this would mean a longer voyage.  She was a poor creature in any boat and mainly confined to her

se guardo indietro, mi pare che tutto sia stato pura sofferenza.

We've played our dreadful game, and we've lost. We owe it to ourselves, we owe it to our feeling for ourselves and for each other, not to wait another day.

But the sense that it was his last chance, that he loved her and had lost her, that she would think him a fool whatever he should say, suddenly gave him a lash and added a deep vibration to his low voice.

She wished to say everything; she was afraid he might die before she had done so.

What could be more dreary than final interviews? One never said the things one wanted — one remembered them all an hour afterwards.

some degree to her loss.  There was an odd pang for me in seeing her move about alone; I felt somehow responsible for it and asked myself why I couldn't have kept my hands off.  I had seen Jasper in the smoking-room more

She envied Ralph his dying, for if one were thinking of rest that was the most perfect of all. To cease utterly, to give it all up and not know anything more - this idea was as sweet as a vision of a cool bath in a marble tank, in a darkened chamber, in a hot land. She had moments in her journey from Rome which were almost as good as being dead. She sat in her corner, so motionless, so passive, simply with the sense of being carried, so detached from hope and regret . . .

I don't know what great unhappiness might bring me to; but it seems to me I shall always be ashamed.

Is there really no hope? our young woman asked as she stood before her. None whatever. There never has been. It has not been a successful life. No — it has only been a beautiful one.

There isn't a thing I can imagine having missed that I don't quite ache to miss again; and it remains at all events an odd stroke that, having of old most felt the thrill of the place in its mighty muchness, I have lived to adore it backward for its sweet simplicity.

Mr. Longdon gave a headshake that was both sad and sharp. "It's all wrong. But YOU'RE all right!" he added in a different tone as he walked hastily away.

BOOK ELEVENTH

What could be more dreary than final interviews ? One never said the things one wanted—one remembered them all an hour afterwards. On the other hand one usually said a lot of things one shouldn't,simply from a sense that one had to say something.

He found all things come back to the question of what he personally might have been, how he might have led his life and turned out, if he had not so, at the outset, given it up.

I wandered aimlessly through this muddy lane bespattered with blood, fragments of the past detached themselves and floated listlessly before my eyes, taunting me with the direst forebodings [...] My world of human beings had perished; I was utterly alone in the world and for friends I had the streets, and the streets spoke to me in that sad, bitter language compounded of human misery, yearning, regret, failure, wasted effort

When I realize that she is gone, perhaps gone forever, a great void opens up and I feel that I am falling, falling, falling into deep, black space. And this is worse than tears, deeper than regret or pain or sorrow; it is the abyss into which Satan was plunged. There is no climbing back, no ray of light, no sound of human voice or human touch of hand.

They died comfortably in their little bed of understanding, to become useful citizens of the world. I pitied them, and in short order I deserted them one by one, without the slightest regret.

Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognise them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty.

But that was a long time ago and since then a crab has been gnawing at my vitals. All this began in the Metro (first-class) with the phrase - l'homme que j'etais, je ne le suis plus.

I want to flee toward a perpetual dawn with a swiftness and relentlessness that leaves no room for remorse, regret, or repentance. I want to outstrip the inventive man who is a curse to the earth in order to stand once again before an impassable deep which not even the strongest wings will enable me to traverse.

It seems to me that everything dates from that aborted affair.

I got to reminiscing about the past. I thought of all the things I might have said and done, which I hadn't sad or done.