Quotes About Regret

There are few wives so perfect as not to give their husbands at least once a day good reason to repent of ever having married, or at least of envying those who are unmarried.

Men regret their life has been ill-spent, but this does not always induce them to make a better use of the time they have yet to live.

We sometimes condemn the present, by praising the past; and show our contempt of what is now, by our esteem for what is no more.

Memory seldom fails when its office is to show us the tombs of our buried hopes.

No one dies of sorrow, they only wish they could.

Then again she wept aloud,– so bitterly that the voice of her crying pierced into the marrow of the listener's bones; – and she sobbed out the words of this poem:– Hi kurureba Sasoeshi mono wo – Akanuma no Makomo no kure no Hitori-ne zo uki! ("At the coming of twilight I invited him to return with me –! Now to sleep alone in the shadow of the rushes of Akanuma – ah! what misery unspeakable!")

If you attach no importance to weight problems, if not being able to wear new, trendy small-sized clothes does not cause you any regret, this book is not for you.

On your deathbed, will you wish you'd spent more prime weekend hours grocery shopping or walking in the woods with your kids?

Was there any fate more bitter than to get what you long for most, when it's too late?

I said I was sorry." "Be sorry, then. Just be sorry somewhere else.

Once upon a time, a sister made a vow she didn't know how to break, and it broke her instead. Once upon a time, a girl did the impossible, but she did it just a little too late.

As for Ellai, she told her sister what had passed, and Nitid wept, and her tears fell to earth and became chimaera, children of regret...

Bitter, bitter, this desolation of angels.

He wanted to tell her that everything he had done he had done because he was broken, because watching her die had destroyed him, but there was no way to say it that didn't sound like he was trying to pin the blame outside himself

So here we are, talking about Roman unicycles and alien sandwiches and my sister's Italian misfortunes, while hanging in between us is: MY EPIC FAILURE TO CARPE. What's wrong with me?

In the legends, chimaera were sprung from tears and seraphim from blood, but in this moment they are, all of them, children of regret.

She stabbed him in the armpit, deep, and he dropped his sword. And died. So that's what is feels like, she thought as her boldness gave away to trembling. It feels awful.

So much to rue, but to what end? All unlived lives cancel one another out.

Karou who had, a lifetime past, begun this story on a battlefield, when she knelt beside a dying angel and smiled. You could trace a line from the beach at Bullfinch, through everything that had happened since - lives ended and begun, wars won and lost, love and wishbones and rage and regret and deception and despair and always, somehow, hope - and end up right here, in this cave in the Adelphas Mountains, in this company.

That was what had finally broken through her blindness. Her father had saved his people and destroyed himself. As strong as he looked, inside he was a ruin, or perhaps a funeral pyre, like the Cusp- only instead of melted bones of ijji, he was made up of the skeletons of babies and children, including, as he had always believed, his own child: her. This was his remorse.

En algún momento, Akiva tal vez hubiera sentido vergüenza por enamorarse de Madrigal. Ahora aquella vergüenza era lo único que lo avergonzaba. Amarla había sido el único acto puro de su vida.

Karou's glance flickered to where the corpse had been, which did not go unnoticed by Liraz. "You think I didn't learn?" the angel asked, incredulous. And with that, Karou almost dared to hope. "Did you?" she asked, and her voice was very small. Did you learn? Did you glean Ziri's soul? Dear gods and stardust, did you? Liraz started to tremble. "I don't know," she said, "I don't know." Her voice shattered, and just like that she was crying.

Thyon, earthbound, felt every choice he'd made, every action he'd taken as a weight he carried with him. He wondered: Was it weight he could shed or throw off, or what it forever part of him, as much as his bones or his hearts?

He'd felt this before and never wanted to feel it again. It could only diminish the memory of Madrigal; it already was. Again his memory failed to conjure her face. It was like trying to call up a melody while another song played