Quotes About Regret

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. He would have been a lot better off thick as a plank.

How ironic it was that mortals, who had the least time of all, were willing to waste so much of it away from the people they love.

She peered up at the red spatter on the ceiling—as though she needed reminders—and lifted a hand to her forehead, pressing a finger against the scar. "You can't even please yourself; how can you please a lover, Zoe?" Chris was right about that. But absolving him wasn't an

It's true what they say … it's never the things you did that haunt you most … it's the things you didn't do, but wish you had.

She peered up at the red spatter on the ceiling—as though she needed reminders—and lifted a hand to her forehead, pressing a finger against the scar. "You can't even please yourself;

Zoe swallowed, wishing she hadn't started the list on her

It was a face that said, "Fuck the world," but said it reluctantly, and tonelessly, and then apologized, said "Sorry," but said all of this so shyly that no one heard, anyway, except for himself. A year ago, Uncle Larry went to the hospital with the flu, somehow fell into a coma, and, a few days later, died.

He wished his mom had stayed in Taiwan. Raised him here, native. He wished his mom had died early, leaving him to do things for himself. Neil wished for 10 percent increases in kindness, tolerance, social skills, confidence and attractiveness and then felt cheated in life by 10 percent.

People who were gone only lived on in your memory if you had memories. Why hadn't she held on tighter?

We'd had a bunch of classes together over the years, but I couldn't be sure we'd ever spoken one-on-one and now that made me sad.

Most of the time Marilyn's mother remained unconscious, her breath labored and erratic. One morning before dawn, she suddenly opened her eyes and looked clearly and intently at her daughter. "You know," she whispered softly, "all my life I thought something was wrong with me." Shaking her head slightly, as if to say, "What a waste," she closed her eyes and drifted back into a coma.

Remembered pain tightened his mouth into a grim line. The weeks he'd spent looking for her had left permanent scars on his heart.

To je uradila uvjerena da njen život nije toliko zanimljiv nikom osim njoj samoj, a njoj je ionako valjalo mrijeti. Nije pomislila da je brisanjem onoga što je smatrala okamenjenim uspomenama iz svoje li?ne povijesti, ona osudila tu jedinstvenu hroniku cijelog jednog života na zaborav koji sobom nosi nadolaze?a buktinja.

Isn't it odd that you only become clever when it's too late?

we are bound tightly by our past actions, the effects of which are inescapable.

Michel. In my dreams, you come and get me. You take me by the hand and you lead me away. This life is too much for me to bear. I look at the key and I long for you and for the past. For the innocent, easy days before the war. I know now my scars will never heal. I hope my son will forgive me. He will never know. No one will ever know.

Sometimes, Miss Jarmond, it's not easy to bring back the past. There are unpleasant surprises. The truth is harder than ignorance

She bent her chin to her chest. She mumbled something I did not catch. It sounded like, "Shame on us all for not having stopped it.

Maybe over time I'll forget the feel and smell and sound of him, the same way I am starting to forget Mom, but I'll never be able to forget that he should've been here.

I let my soul be corrupted that day, although it would be years later before I accepted what I had done. I forgot who I was and what I should do and only thought about what I wanted and what I could do.

Every one of us has lain down for a reason that was not love.

This, I now know, is how people go crazy and do things they regret. Look at the woman who almost killed Al Green.I am sure she cooked those grits, fully intending to eat them for breakfast. Then he did something that set her off. After that, she probably picked up the pot, just to scare him a little bit. Next thing she knew and the boiling grits were all over his face. There was a name for that kind of thing. "Crime of passion." It meant that it wasn't your fault.

But I recognized them by the ambition that clung to their skins like spicy cologne, the slight breeze of power that stirred the air, and finally, a mourning that left my mouth tasting of ash.

I kissed her finger near the base, where my ring once rested. "Georgia," I said, beginning a sentence I couldn't bear to complete. "I tried," she began. "Shhh . . . Just sleep, Georgia. Just sleep." But neither of us closed our eyes against the immeasurable dark of that silent night.