Quotes About Regret

Sean halted. Do I get a good-bye kiss? It will just make things harder, Sean. You chose your road. You should follow it and not look back.

Of course, I'll still love you, you stupid jerk. The Beast Lord is an arrogant jerk. I never wanted him. I only wanted Curran.

Taking a life always hurt. It never went away, no matter how justified the kill was. It still cost you a piece of your soul and it hurt when that piece died.

My voice was so bitter I could taste it. "It doesn't matter. I thought you wanted to be with me. You made me want"—I struggled with words—"things I didn't think I would ever get. I thought we had a chance. But it's over now.

Too bad you didn't ask your aunt more questions before you killed her . . .

Söylediklerimizden çok, söylemediklerimize piÅŸman oluruz. Dile getirilmemiÅŸ düÅŸünce ; gidilmemiÅŸ yoldur.

Però per què em dius tot això? Jo odio el meu passat! L'odio! - Perquè ell és tu i tu ets ell.

She thought of the past that was both near and distant at the same time, undoubtedly because of the grim intrusion of the war. She pictured her husband, a heavy, bored man, interested only in money, land and local politics. She had never loved him; she had married him because her father wished it. Born and brought up in the countryside, she had little experience of the outside world, with the exception of a few brief trips to Paris to visit an elderly relative.

Ancora un'ora persa, sprofondata nel nulla, che è colata via tra le dita come acqua e che non tornerà più... Vorrei andarmene lontano, oppure morire....

La felicità assomiglia a delle vacanze in riva al mare in un'estate piovosa, dove solo l'ultima giornata è stata bella, e questo è sufficiente per rimpiangerle.

Ci resta sempre in fondo al cuore il rimpianto di un'ora, di un'estate, di un fuggevole istante in cui la giovinezza si schiude come una gemma.

Now and again he let out a sort of clipped, bitter laugh. "Good God, to have fought in '14 and then see this Ã¢â'¬Â¦

She felt intense disappointment, even a kind of guilt, as if she had missed something, perhaps forever. He had been there, she could have spoken to him. Could she call out now, cry his name? It was impossible.

What greater torment than to see that light, and then to see it eternally withdrawn?

Everything in his life now seemed to signal: too late.

I am sorry that our friendship, or whatever name one may give to the obsessive relationship which has bound us together for so many years, should end in this way. This is not the place to utter its elegy.

Forgive me for not being able to be with you.

I've somehow run myself into hell. There must be many entrances.

And I thought, rolling my head to and fro between my hands in anguish, oh if only it could have worked somehow for us two.

I am just a past with no present.

Oh what an ill fate it was that has made me love that man.

I know girls aren't supposed to tell, but I've got to tell—just in case you should fail to love me because you never knew how much I loved you. I want not to have to say later—I wish I'd told him.

I'm sorry I was awful. I'm so full of terrors.

Yet it all seemed inevitable and perhaps it was. Is it fruitless to think about the past and build up coherent pictures of how one's life went wrong?