Quotes About Regret

coffin nails. Once Stan had left for

Seven pounds, nine shillings and sixpence turned out to be the value they'd put on Arthur's life. I sat alone at the kitchen table, and I think that was the moment I knew I'd never see my husband again.

He had never understood the niceties of life and it was too late to start learning now.

SHE ONLY stopped screaming when she died. It was then that he started to scream. The

Regret, already sogging me down, burst its dam. It seeped into my legs, it pooled in my heart.

The window was still open," Mr Lisbon said. "I don't think we'd ever remembered to shut it. It was all clear to me. I knew I had to close that window or else she'd go on jumping out of it forever.

Don't waste your time on life.

Chunks of his life fell away, so that while we were moving ahead in time, he was moving back.

When asked why she had tried to kill herself, she said only, It was a mistake.

It seemed like we were supposed to feel sorry for everything that ever happened, ever.

The worst part was that, as the years passed, these memories became, in the way you kept them in a secret box in your head, taking them out every so often to turn them over and over, something like dear possessions. They were the key to your unhappiness. They were the evidence that life wasn't fair. If you weren't a lucky child, you didn't know you weren't lucky until you got older. And then it was all you ever thought about.

His lost look of a man who realized that all this dying was going to be the only life he ever had.

They had killed themselves over the failure to find a love that none of us could ever be.

I never know what I feel until it's too late.

and left no doubt that Cecilia had done violence to herself.

Throughout the act, headlights came on across the field, sweeping over them, lighting up the goal-post. Lux said, in the middle, I always screw things up. I always do and began to sob. Trip Fontaine told us a little more. We asked him if he put her in the cab but he said no. I walked home that night. I didn;t care how she got home. I just took off. Then: It's weird. I mean, I liked her I really liked her. I just got sick of her right then.

Na kraju nije bilo bitno koliko su godina imale niti da su bile cure, nego samo da smo ih voljeli, a one nisu ?ule naš zov; ne ?uju nas ni danas, dok ih prorije?ene kose i salastih trbuha iz ku?ice na drvetu dozivamo da iza?u iz soba, kamo su otišle da zauvijek budu same - same u samoubojstvu, a samoubojstvo je dublje od smrti - i gdje mi nikad ne?emo na?i djeli?e da ih nanovo sklopimo.

By cutting off my hair I was punishing myself for loving someone so much.

The Parks Department continued to cut down trees, removing a sick elm to save the remaining twenty, then removing another to save the remaining nineteen, and so on and so on until only the half-tree remained in front of the Lisbons' old house. Nobody could bear to watch when they came for it (Tim Winer compared the tree to the last speaker of Manx)

the melancholic remainder of our lives (a place the Lisbon girls, wisely, it began to seem, never cared to see)

Emotion, in my experience, aren't covered by single words. I don't believe in sadness, joy, or regret. Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, the happiness that attends disaster. ...most of my emotions are hybrids. But not all. Some are pure and unadulterated. Jealousy, for instance.

At my age, I feel like I'm halfway to the finish line and life's too short to do what I'm sure to hate.

Women ask me all the time if I feel like I made a mistake. This is rude. Of course, the best response to this question comes from Claire Underwood in House of Cards. When asked, "Do you ever regret it, not having children?" Claire answers, "Do you ever regret having them?

Sweat began to pour off me and the contents of my stomach–soft serve ice cream, peach schnapps, and a handful of wax potpourri I'd earlier mistaken for Gummi bears–roiled in an unholy stew. The smell of poached eggs was overwhelming. Without benefit of loafers or coat, I ran outside to vomit in a snowbank. All I could think the entire time was, "Nancy Reagan was right." After that, I just said no to smoking pot, and, for quite a while, poaching eggs.