Quotes About Regret

Two o'clock already! High time for a woman of letters who has turned out badly to go to sleep.

When did we get too old for this, Daeng? What happened to those days when we were somersaulting through the air with a cutlass in each hand taking out the enemy twenty at a time?" "I don't think that was us, Love. That was Bruce Lee.

the overriding thought in my mind is that I didn't have the foresight to say goodbye or thank you to the people I love. That sounds corny, I know, but what's wrong with corny? It has its place.

He'd once read (or heard)—Disraeli, was it? (or Jimmy Bowden?)—that a man ought never to apologize; never to explain. He did neither

He sighed and knew that life was full of 'if only' for everyone

J?dru?! Ran twoich niegodnam ca?owa?.

I am sure I'd have made a better all-around man if I hadn't lost so much time just making a living.

Hier en daar een antenne knakken, een achteruitkijkspiegel afbreken, een deuk stompen, een kras maken? (...) Als zoiets je enige vorm van voldoening geeft, ben je een stompzinnige idioot.

Is there some principal of nature which states that we never know the quality of what we have until it is gone?

The poor old Past,The Future's slave.

God knows I'm not perfect, either. I've made tons of stupid mistakes, and later I regretted them. And I've done it over and over again, thousands of times; a cycle of hollow joy and vicious self-hatred. But even so, every time I learned something about myself -Misato Katsuragi

I wish that I could turn back time cause now the guilt is all mine can't live without the trust from those you love I know we can't forget the past you can't forget love & pride because of that, it's killing me inside - Mike Wyzgowski (interpreted)

For every time she shouted "Fire!"They only answered "Little liar!"And therefore when her aunt returned,Matilda, and the house, were burned.

It's always the wrong bits of the past people want back.

If you knew at twenty what you know at thirty-five, what a marvellous life you could have; on the other hand, you might find that you couldn't be bothered to have any life at all.

He had meant to write to Gregory and say, I have seen such a sweet girl, I will find out who she is and, if I steer our family adroitly in the next few years, perhaps you can marry her. He has not written this. In his present precarious situation, it would be about as useful as the letters Gregory used to write to him: Dear father, I hope you are well. I hope your dog is well. And now no more for lack of time.

I am in mourning for myself. With these papers, my usefulness gone. I could not do it again: the years of sleepless toil, the brute moral deformation. . .

He thinks, I remembered you, Thomas More, but you didn't remember me. You never even saw me coming.

My list of sins is so extensive that the recording angel has run out of tablets, and sits in the corner with his quill blunted, wailing and ripping out his curls.

You can persuade the quick to think again, but you cannot remake your reputation with the dead.

Henry likes to utter his sin and be forgiven. He is sincerely sorry, he will not do it again. And in this case, perhaps he will not. The temptation to cut off your wife's head does not arise every year.

Coffee was served: bitter and black, like chances missed.

It would have been quite in order to slap his face, but what a cliché, she thought, and besides she was off balance. She had always wanted to do it to someone, but would have preferred someone more robust; so, between one thing and another, the moment passed.

There are moments when a memory moves right through you. You shy, you duck, you run; or else the past takes your fist and actuates it, without the intervention of will. Suppose you have a knife in your fist? That's how murder happens.