Quotes About Remorse

Forgive me, for all the things I did but mostly for the ones I did not.

It's a terrible thing, what we did," said Francis abruptly. "I mean, this man was not Voltaire we killed. But still. It's a shame. I feel bad about it." "Well, of course, I do too," said Henry matter-of-factly. "But not bad enough to want to go to jail for it." Francis snorted and poured himself another shot of whiskey and drank it straight off. "No," he said. "Not that bad.

It's a terrible thing, what we did," said Francis abruptly. "I mean, this man was not Voltaire we killed. But still. It's a shame. I feel bad about it.

Forgive me for for all the things that i did, but mostly for all the things i didn't do

only now was it starting to make sense why Lady Macbeth could never scrub the blood off her hands, why it was still there after she washed it away.

Forgive me for all the things I did, but mostly for the things I didn't

hinc illae lacrimae, hence those tears.

The truth is, she has no idea how many have died at her hands. It's like counting the number of times you've had sex. Maybe you can remember the first fifty. After that, everything becomes a blur.

Cada nuevo acto de pecado disminuye el temor y el remordimiento, endurece nuestro corazón, insensibiliza nuestra conciencia e incrementa nuestras inclinaciones perversas.

Guilt doesn't follow the rules of time. Most things fade with time, regret, eyesight, memories. But guilt feeds on time, and as it feeds, it grows, and when it runs out of time, it begins to gnaw on the guilty.

Every time I stole a dollar I knew I was breaking a law and working a hardship on the loser. Yet for years I kept on doing it. I wonder how many of us quit wronging others for the best reason of all — because it is wrong, and we know it.

found him on his bench, sober and sorry for it.

deep regret, "none of this would ever have happened.

I still feel really bad about it," said Jessie. "That's good," said Grandma.

I felt as if this pain would never be appeased, that it had me in its grip for ever, that it would prevent me from devoting myself to anything else, and that I was allowing it to do so. I think that is what they call being consumed with remorse.

A deed done in anger cannot be rectified by another act of rage,

When I say "I am filled with rage," the criminal says, "But why?"And when I blow things up and make life generally unlivable for the criminal (is my life not unlivable too?) the criminal is shocked, surprised. But nothing can erase my rage- not an apology, not a sum of money, not the death of the criminal- for this wrong can never be made right, and only the impossible can make me still: can a way be found to make what happened not have happened?

The heart that sins must sorrow.

The salient point about remorse, however, is that it matters little whether it is genuine or not. Clients who get very sorry after acts of abuse change at about the same rate as the ones who don't. The most regretful are sometimes the most self-centered, lamenting above all the injury they've done to their own self-image. They feel ashamed of having behaved like cruel dictators and want to revert quickly to the role of benign dictators, as if that somehow makes them much better people.

How can she eat this fish, cooling on a slab of marble? And yet the fish, too, motionless as it is, and dismantled from its bones, and fleeced of its silver skin, has never been so completely alone as it is now: violated in a final manner and regarded with a weary eye by this woman who has made the latest mistake of her day and done this to it.

Katie was displaying signs of antisocial personality disorder and extreme narcissism. Those who display a pattern of disregard for right and wrong, persistent lying, arrogance, impulsiveness, lack of empathy and remorse, along with other symptoms, fall within the antisocial/sociopath spectrum.

with himself for getting so drunk the

I went to him & put my Hand upon his Shoulder. Said he to me, "God forgive me. Her Name — I never knew her Name." Which meant not a Jot to me — and yet my Heart was the Thing that broke.

He was glaring at me. "I'm sorry," I said. He asked, "For what?" "For what I did." "What about what you didn't do?