Quotes About Regret

His regard for her was quite imaginary; and the possibility of her deserving her mother's reproach prevented his feeling any regret.

Bila je uvjerena da bi mogla biti sretna s njim sad kad više nije bilo vjerojatno da ?e se ikada sresti.

A letter exposes to all the evil of consultation, and where the mind is anything short of perfect decision, an adviser may, in an unlucky moment, lead it to do what it may afterwards regret.

He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship," replied Elizabeth with emphasis, "and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life.

She felt all the force of that comparison; but not as her sister had hoped, to urge her to exertion now; she felt it with all the pain of continual self-reproach, regretted most bitterly that she had never exerted herself before; but it brought only the torture of penitence, without the hope of amendment. Her mind was so much weakened that she still fancied present exertion impossible, and therefore it only dispirited her more.

If you are in too great a hurry, you will certainly live to repent it.

nu merita sa il regreti! Si sper ca nu va trece mult timp pana cand vei intelege asta si cu inima, nu doar cu mintea.

Leonard and Virginia married in August 1912. Virginia was 30. Soon after her marriage she suVered another breakdown and her mental health declined sporadically over the following year, culminating in a suicide attempt in September 1913. They were advised against having children because of Virginia's recurring depressive illness, a cause of some regret to her, and a point of much heated debate among her later biographers.

I wanted something seismic to happen at the end. I wanted him to wake up so we could somehow forgive each other, say we loved each another, move on with some sense of closure, for I knew this would be the last time I saw him, but he didn't wake up, and nothing was said.

All those years of beauty, of a wonderful figure, and all I could think was that I was never pretty enough, never slim enough, never quite good enough. What I would give to have those years back, to appreciate them more, to appreciate the life I had while I was living it.

Horrible as this is to admit, I think I cried less because my dad was dying than for the dad I had never had.

Life is so easy when you are young, she thinks. You can say and do almost anything, safe in the knowledge that an apology will make everything better. The older you get, the more impact those harmful words and deeds have. Once said, those words cannot be unspoken.

Evelyn looked at Ann, the child she had always wanted, the friend she had once had, the lover she had never considered. Of course she wanted Ann. Pride, morality, and inexperience had kept her from admitting it frankly to herself from the first moment she had seen Ann.

Otherwise, my life passed in a blur, that blessing of urban routine. The sense of distinct events that is so inescapable on a farm, where every rainstorm is thick with odor and color, and usefulness and timing, where omens of prosperity or ruin to come are sought in every change, where any of the world's details may contain the one thing that above all else you will regret not knowing, this sense lifted off me. Maybe another way of saying it is that I forgot I was still alive.

She knows what she wants, though maybe she doesn't know what will work. But if you don't give her what she wants, she'll spend the rest of her life thinking that that was the one thing that might have worked.

There were so many things Rosanna could have been besides a farm wife, she thought. But it was not a source of regret—it was a source of pride.

Sometimes these days Dean felt like picking up the phone and calling his buddy Michael Jordan and chortling with him over how he'd played Continental Dairy Industries off against National Milk, but of course he didn't have Michael's number.

She was almost sixty and she had not been to London, or Paris, or Rome, and there was no going there now. Yes, she was balanced, as she had gotten into the habit of congratulating herself for being. But, she saw, she was balanced on a very narrow perch.

Longing for something that you once had is a mistake because the pictures in your mind are never the same as whatever it is you are longing for.

And those you never forgive you find impossible to forget. — Jane Urquhart, The Underpainter (McClelland & Stewart, 1997)

But as the scissors snip-snapped through her hair and the razor shaved the rest, she realized with a sudden awful panic that she could no longer recall anything from the past. I cannot remember, she whispered to herself. I cannot remember. She's been shorn of memory as brutally as she'd been shorn of her hair, without permission, without reason... Gone, all gone, she thought again wildly, no longer even sure what was gone, what she was mourning.

You deserved to get run over. And besides, I barely tapped you. The only reason you broke your leg was because you panicked and tripped over your own feet.

Suppose I lay down on the pavement and you run over me a few times with my own car...just for old times.

And the closest I've come to an out-of-body experience was when Joe Morelli took his mouth to me fourteen years ago, behind the eclair case.