Quotes About Remorse

I got caught shoplifting, which is not good. I was stealing for this boy that I went with at the time, and I ended up getting a three-month punishment.

We shall not kill and maybe next time we even won't.

It's one of those things, when you look back on it, you'd go, "Oh, I could've done without that. If I could go back in time, I would do it different." That's the thing with violence in general.

Let the guilt teach you how to behave next time.

Remorse ... is one of the many afflictions for which time finds a cure.

I knew I would replay the scene countless times in the years before me, each time thinking of different things I should have said and done. But all I did was walk away without looking back.

It gave an appalling idea of the value of an hour, and I thought I could never waste one again without remorse and terror.

I admit that I treed a rheumatic grandfather of mine in the winter of 1850. He was old and inexpert in climbing trees, but with the heartless brutality that is characteristic of me I ran him out of the front door in his night-shirt at the point of a shotgun, and caused him to bowl up a maple tree, where he remained all night, while I emptied shot into his legs. I did this because he snored. I will do it again if I ever have another grandfather.

Perdón es el aroma que la violeta deja en el zapato que la aplastó.

Bundan 20 y?l sonra, yapt?klar?ndan çok yapmad???n ÅŸeylerden piÅŸmanl?k duyacaks?n.

Regret fills our bodies when we've wronged someone.

As the service proceeded, the clergyman drew such pictures of the graces, the winning ways, and the rare promise of the lost lads, that every soul there, thinking he recognized these pictures, felt a pang in remembering that he had persistently blinded himself to them, always before, and had as persistently seen only faults and flaws in the poor boys.

His grandeurs were stricken valueless: they seemed to fall away from him like rotten rags. The procession moved on, and still on, through ever augmenting splendours and ever augmenting tempests of welcome; but to Tom Canty they were as if they had not been. He neither saw nor heard. Royalty had lost its grace and sweetness; its pomps were become a reproach. Remorse was eating his heart out. He said, "Would God I were free of my captivity!

God forgive us, mother, we are hunting the wrong man! I have not slept any all night. I am now awaiting, at dawn

Ah, were he now before me, In spite of injured pride, I fear my eyes would pardon Before my tongue could chide.

I wasn't feeling so brash as I was before, but kind of ornery, and humble, and to blame, somehow—though I hadn't done nothing. But that's always the way; it don't make no difference whether you do right or wrong, a person's conscience ain't got no sense, and just goes for him anyway.

This wasn't necessary. It could have been avoided. We didn't need to go through all this.

Ashamed before. Ashamed now.

If Sorrow is deep regret over someone loved , there is nothing but regret here

The Proclaimers thunder through my head. Imagine it. Imagine killing someone to the tune of two Scottish nerds wearing glasses and flattop haircuts. How will I ever listen to that song again? What will I do if it comes on the radio? I'll think of the night I murdered another man and stole his life with my own hands.

There was guilt for enjoying anything. Especially the joy of forgetting.

Two Giant Words: I'm Sorry

Last note from you narrator; I am haunted by humans.

The thought of missing it was eased when she found a gap in the bodies and was able to see the mound of guilt, still intact. It was prodded and splashed, even spat on. It reminded her of an unpopular child, forlorn and bewildered, powerless to alter its fate. No one liked it. Head down. Hands in pockets. Forever. Amen.