Quotes About Regret

If I had to live my life again, I'd make the same mistakes, only sooner.

The only thing I regret about my past is the length of it. If I had to live my life again, I'd make the same mistakes, only sooner

Hun husket fillebyltene som en gang hadde vært menn, menn hvis søken etter et bedre liv hadde fått en æreløs slutt. Renspiste av kråker og dingoer, glemt og ikke sørget over. Pappa fortjente bedre.

Vinden hadde stilnet, og nå, mens luften tyknet og et kobberskarpt lyn fortengte den milde duften av eukalyptus og akasie, mintes hun de første årene av sitt ekteskap. Fortiden tok henne igjen, visket ut nåtiden, og ble så livaktig at det var som om de mellomliggende årene aldri hadde eksistert.

She had the kind of looks that had probably been quite pretty in high school, but were now worn down by years of smoking cigarettes, raising children, and the disappointment of being married to an asshole.

A drunkard's words are gone when the next day dawns.

A drunkard's words are gone by the next dawn.

If Ewan was a drink... he'd be whisky because he seems like a good idea when you're drunk but he makes you feel like shit in the morning. Haha!

One of my da's tragedies was always the fact that he was bright enough to understand just how comprehensively he had shat all over his life.

It stunned me. I had never said it before. I knew that I would never say it again, not really; that you only get one shot at in a lifetime. I got mine out of nowhere on a misty autumn evening, under a street lamp shining yellow streaks on the wet pavement, with Rosie's strong pliable fingers woven through mine.

I know I said that I always choose the anticlimactic over the irrevocable, and yes of course what I meant was that I have always been a coward, but I lied: not always, there was that night, there was that one time.

I watched her on the stand in that unfamiliar suit and thought of the soft hairs at the back of her neck, warm and smelling of the sun, and it seemed an impossible thing to me, it seemed the vastest and saddest miracle of my life: I touched her hair, once.

I pictured every inch of what she would look like now: the crow's-feet from smiles I hadn't seen, the softness of her belly from kids who weren't mine, all her life that I had missed written on her body in Braille for my hands to read.

Foreshadow, plot buster or red herring... only time will tell: P69 -- Cassie waited; in the evening light through the window her eyes looked huge, opaque and watchful. I knew she was giving me a chance to say, Fuck the hair clip, let's forget we ever found it. Even now the temptation, tired and profitless though it may be, is to wonder what would have happened if I had.

In the nights afterwards I used to wake up with my mind full of those headlights, brighter and deeper than the sun. I saw them again behind my eyelids in that dark lane, and I understood then that I could have just kept driving. I could have been like Lexie. I could have hit full speed and taken us soaring up off the road, into the vast silence at the heart of those lights and out on the other side where nothing could touch us, ever.

Although I knew that quite possibly this would have made no difference to anything at all, in the long run, I couldn't help thinking of all the casualties that silence had left behind, all the wreckage in its wake.

I hate nostalgia, it's laziness with prettier accessories,

Ich habe ihn geliebt, weißt du", sagte sie. "Ich hätte ihn so sehr geliebt, wie er mich gelassen hätte, bis ans Ende meines Lebens.

There's no password more powerful than your past.

Daniel glanced up from his book. "No pasts," he said. The fall of it, the finality, told me it was something he had said before.

That was my baby brother. It doesn't matter how he went out that window, I should have caught him.

And even if I somehow didn't: I had killed someone, and I always would have. It was always going to be like this. There was no undoing this, no talking my way out, no fixing it or apologizing it away, no smoothing off the sharp edges or planing it down so it could be tucked away into some smaller, manageable box. Instead it would grind me away till I fit around its own immutable shape.

When I think about the Spain case, from deep inside endless nights, this is the moment I remember. Everything else, every other slip and stumble along the way, could have been redeemed. This is the one I clench tight because of how sharp it slices. Cold still air, a weak ray of sun glowing on the wall outside the window, smell of stale bread and apples.

When he goes weak is when she takes him by surprise like this, on an innocent fall morning, blooming right across his mind so fresh and vivid that he can almost smell her. He can't remember why he shouldn't pull out his phone, Hey, baby, listen to this. Probably he should delete her number, but they might need to talk about Alyssa sometime, and anyway he knows it by heart.