Quotes About Regret

Despair and die. The ghosts

Of one that lov'd not wisely but too well.

Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.

He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.

My salad days, When I was green in judgment: cold in blood, To say as I said then! But, come, away; Get me ink and paper: He shall have every day a several greeting, Or I'll unpeople Egypt.

No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?

All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.

Better once than never, for never too late.

By that sin fell the angels.

woah is me to have seen what i seen see what i see

O, woe is me, To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

Why what a fool was I to this drunken monster for a God. - Caliban

I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me: but once put out thy light, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relume.

And too soon Marred are those so early Made.

True it is that we have seen better days.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought...

Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing of her gallèd eyes, She married. O, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!

And my poor fool is hanged. No, no, no life! Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life And thou no breath at all? O thou'lt come no more, Never, never, never, never, never.

I hope my noble lord esteems me honest. OTHELLO: Oh, ay, as summer flies are in the shambles, That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed, Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweet That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst ne'er been born! DESDEMONA: Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed? OTHELLO: Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, Made to write "whore" upon?

O shut the door! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help!

How stand I, then, That have a father killed, a mother stained, Excitements of my reason and my blood, And let all sleep, while to my shame I see The imminent death of twenty thousand men That for a fantasy and trick of fame Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, Which is not tomb enough and continent To hide the slain? O, from this time forth My thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth! He exits.

There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.

Whence is that knocking? How is't with me when every noise appals me? What hands are here! Ha - they pluck out mine eyes! Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood         Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red.

betimes I will—to the weird sisters. (140) More shall they speak, for now I am bent to know, By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good, All causes shall give way. I am in blood Stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.