Quotes About Regret

they have tortured me for my sin of affection.

Vocations which we wanted to pursue, but didn't, bleed, like colors, on the whole of our existence.

Whether she actually would have flown in to act as baby nurse or mailed me cotton balls and calamine lotion if she were alive isn't really the issue. It's the fact that I can't ask her for these things that makes me miss her all over again.

A bad conscience makes a very good ghost.

Once a word has been allowed to escape, it cannot be recalled.

Clogged with yesterday's excess, the body drags the mind down with it.

The one who cannot restrain their anger will wish undone, what their temper and irritation prompted them to do.

I am not what I was in the reign of the good Cinara. Forbear, cruel mother of sweet loves.

He has defiled his father's grave.

A word once uttered can never be recalled.

Guilt is the very nerve of sorrow

This is a bad world; nor have I had cause to leave it with regret.

Pero al verla otra vez, a veinte metros de mí, mirándome, sentí que en mi alma, dormida en paz, surgía sangrando la desolación de haberla perdido, como si no hubiera pasado un solo día de esos diez años.

Pensó en las palabras de Dostojewsky, que hasta ese momento no había comprendido: "Nada hay más bello y que fortalezca más en la vida, que un puro recuerdo". Nébel lo había guardado, ese recuerdo sin mancha, pureza inmaculada de sus dieciocho años, y que ahora estaba allí, enfangado hasta el cáliz sobre una cama de sirvienta…

Inés! Y como diez años antes, los sollozos redoblaron, y como entonces me respondió bajo sus brazos: —No, no…¡Es demasiado tarde!…

What do I have left after running away from believing? I've come to think that even if I believe in people and get hurt it is much better than regretting not doing so.

And all of it seemed far away and long ago, along with the hard voices promising violence and the eyes bright with anger. page 126; THE TASTE OF ASHES by Howard Browne.

If only I had loved myself more. How profound is that?

Every day it becomes clearer that this was the wrong war at the wrong time.

I don't think man is blessed with memory. More often he is cursed with it. I have too many memories.

He no sooner saw the woman than he saw the aftermath of her - his marriage proposal and her acceptance, the home they would set up together, the drawn rich silk curtains leaking purple light, the bed sheets billowing like clouds, the wisp of aromatic smoke winding from the chimney - only for every wrack of it - its lattice of crimson roof tiles, its gables and dormer windows, his happiness, his future - to come crashing down on him in the moment of her walking past.

When I returned, I never once walked past the house where my mother, aunt, and I lved together...It was as if the past would judge me. The house would judge me. That merely looking at it would somehow cause me to calibrate my life, and in all aspects of usefulness I would come up short.

Once I slew a man, and never do I wish to slay a man again, for it is bitter for the soul to think thereon.

thou hast found me an archer that will make thy wife to wring! I would that thou hadst ne'er said one word to me, or that I had never passed thy way, or e'en that my right forefinger had been stricken off ere that this had happened! In haste I smote, but grieve I sore at leisure!" And then, even in his trouble, he remembered the old saw that "What is done is done; and the egg cracked cannot be cured.