Quotes About Regret

The '67 model was the last good Volks—and the young men knew it. "Hepburn, they stole our fucking car." "Oh Hank, surely not!" "It's gone. It was sitting there." I pointed. "Now it's gone." "Hank, what will we do?" "We'll take a taxi. I really feel bad." "Why do people do that?" "They have to. It's their way out." We

Kakvo sam to govno bio ja? Umeo sam ocigledno da igram neke prljave, nestvarne igre. Šta me je teralo na to? Yar sam pokušavao da proturim svejedno kao nešto? Da li sam mogao i dalje da govorim sebi kako je to u suštini stvar istrazivanja, prosto jedna studija zenskog roda? Jednostavno sam pustio da se stvari dešavaju, bez razmišljanja o njima. Nije me bilo briga ni za šta osim za svoje sebi?no, jeftino uzivanje. Pravi razmazeni srednoškolac.

Kuolema itsessään ei ole kamalaa, vaan ne elämät jotka ihmiset elävät, tai eivät elä kunnes kuolevat. He eivät arvosta elämiään, he kusevat elämiensä päälle, paskantavat niille.

tenho vergonha de ser um membro da raça humana mas não quero acrescentar nem mais um pingo que seja a essa vergonha.

kahretsin, kaybetmemiz mümkün deÄŸilmiÅŸ gibi gelmiÅŸti bize ama kaybettik...

From Bartolomé de Las Casas on, Europeans have known that their arrival brought about a catastrophe for Native Americans. "We, Christians, have destroyed so many kingdoms," reflected Pedro Cieza de León, the traveler in postconquest Peru. "For wherever the Spaniards have passed, conquering and discovering, it is as though a fire had gone, destroying everything in its path.

I have deeply regretted that I did not proceed far enough at least to understand something of the great leading principles of mathematics, for men thus endowed seem to have an extra sense.

And also forever too late for Lily to learn that raging passion predicts nothing but a mess of bad news for everybody.

Some far day when she had become a better person and could feel something besides stinging anger that her beautiful, gentle sister had not protected herself more carefully against a world of threat.

Where had he been? Drinking, obviously. Then she started cataloging all the ways he was worthless. On fool impulse, as his most potent available argument against Lily, Bud stuck his hands into his coat pockets and pulled out the many bundles of hundreds and threw them on the bedspread. If you were honest and stupid, you worked a couple of lifetimes for that kind of money, doled out by the hour in pocket-change amounts by asswipe bosses.

Whether you pick well or poorly, the act of choosing carries grief. Leaves you wondering, years later, what life might have been had you chosen differently. . . . Or even wishing you'd simply paused, taken a long, deep breath. Not allowed the personal moment and the pattern of your family and your stupid culture to shove you two-handed from behind, forcing you to stumble unbalanced into the future

I sometimes imagine meeting my seventeen-year-old self. She's still here inside me somewhere. Maybe one morning in the mirror, there she'll be. I look at her with affection and understanding and hope. She sees me and backs away in horror while I try to explain why I made the choices I made.

We all reach a point where we would like to draw a line across time and declare everything on the far side null. Shed our past life like a pair of wet and muddy trousers, just roll their heavy clinging fabric down our legs and step away. We also reach a point where we would give the rest of our withering days for the month of July in our seventeenth year. But no thread of Ariadne exists to lead us back there.

How embarrassing that she ever did something that silly. But, good God, she was seventeen. At that age, we're mostly high-pitched and crazy. All urgent chemicals raging around the blood course. And that's why we do dangerous and embarrassing things, as if simultaneously we're immortal and going to die tomorrow. And that's why we look back on that time so fondly from the dimmer years to come. Remembering the days when we were like Greek gods. Mighty and idiotic.

I wonder what people talk about who've destroyed their lives with addictions other than books and politics and money and war.

The instant passed so fast, and when that happens, it goes for good and all you have is a slow lifetime to speculate on revisions.

To Ada, though, it seemed akin to miracle that Stobrod, of all people, should offer himself up as proof positive that no matter what a waste one has made of one's life, it is ever possible to find some path to redemption, however partial.

You can mire yourself in the past, but you can't change a damn thing in that lost world.

Put away from you this unfounded grief; only let it be a lesson to you to be as kind as possible to those you love; and remember, when they are gone from you, you will never think you had been kind enough.

I let the happy times slip through my fingers and gripped on to the sad times as if they were my heart's desire

and not getting to hang out at a theatrical troupe's after-party with Cassie. (Who he gloomily realizes he will never see again

I wasn't there, I wasn't there." The final failure, in the father's eyes. "Nor was God," Rutledge said, and sat with the grieving man for another quarter of an hour, until he was calmer.

What could have been Henry Cutter's

Why didn't I go in? I'm such a chicken. I'm such an idiot. I should have kissed her. I've blown it. I should just go and knock on her door and just kiss her. It would be romantic. It would be something we could someday tell our kids. I'm gonna do that right now. [drives away]