Quotes About Remorse

And out of his heaviness there stood out strangely but one clear thought and it was a pain to him, and it was this, that he wished he had not taken the two pearls from O-lan that day when she was washing his clothes at the pool, and he would never bear to see Lotus put them in her ears again.

Lucinda's foolish words stuck in his mind like a flung dagger he could not pull out. They'd be in him always, maybe.

High minds, of native pride and force, Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse; Fear, for their scourge, means villains have, Thou art the torturer of the brave!

No shame, no solution, no remorse, no retribution, just people selling t-shirts.

I get up and pace the room, as if I can leave my guilt behind me. But it tracks me as I walk, an ugly shadow made by myself.

Empathy--the ability to identify with someone else's suffering--is certainly a prerequisite for a genuine apology.

please Lady... Do not speak of it. I was young and foolish. You most certainly were. You are cruel, Evanna.

How do you feel? Terrible. I must've gone to bed sober.

You ought to have known I'd do it! My voice sounded harsh and savage like a stranger's in my ears. Didn't I steal a crutch from a cripple?

This ability to feel remorse is one of the many ways in which dogs are better than cats. Cats have the morals of Hannibal Lecter. If you come home and find your cat inside your parakeet's cage, holding your dead parakeet in its jaws, your cat will be like, "Obviously this parakeet committed suicide." Meanwhile your dog, if you have one, will be moping around under the cage going, "I did it! I ate the bird!

shame about being. "We say, I am ashamed of myself. I am guilty for something.

His desktop was a sheet of black opal with neither paper nor a data console to mar its polished perfection. A small printer perched on the outer edge, as if contemplating suicide in remorse at intruding on so august a personage.

His outburst that morning had been directed almost more at himself than at Aunt Pol. He had called her a monster, but it was the monster within himself he hated. The dreadful catalogue of what she had suffered over uncounted years for him and the passion with which she had spoken – evidence of the pain his words had caused her – twisted searingly in his mind. He was ashamed, so ashamed that he could not even bear to look into the faces of his friends.

Act in Haste, Repent at Leisure would seem to have been almost custom-designed for the case of tattoos.

Stan, sitting beside Zeena, tried to concentrate on the words and guess what the reverend was going to say next. Anything to keep from thinking. It's not my fault he's dead. I didn't mean to kill him. I killed him. There it starts again and all day I wasn't feeling anything and I thought I'd lost it.

He thought about a thousand things but these in his rapid walk to his quarters — his past life and future chances — the fate which might be before him — the wife, the child perhaps, from whom unseen he might be about to part. Oh, how he wished that night's work undone! and that with a clear conscience at least he might say farewell to the tender and guileless being by whose love he had set such little store!

And for my part I believe that remorse is the least active of all a man's moral senses—the very easiest to be deadened when wakened, and in some never wakened at all. We grieve at being found out and at the idea of shame or punishment, but the mere sense of wrong makes very few people unhappy in Vanity Fair.

And for my part I believe that remorse is the least active of all a man's moral senses – the very easiest to be deadened when wakened: and in some never wakened at all.

What's done cannot be undone.

Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done is done.

Give me my sin again.

A little water clears us of this deed.

If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul.

Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.