Quotes About Forgiveness

Living our lives was like living in a long house. We entered as babies at one end, and we exited when our time came. And in between we moved through this one, great, long room. Everyone we ever met, and every thought and action lived in that room with us. Until we made peace with the less agreeable parts of our past they'd continue to heckle us from way down the long house. And sometimes the really loud, obnoxious ones told us what to do, directing our actions even years later. Gamache

Let it go. You have your own life. Not Uncle Saul's, not your parents'.' His face had grown very serious then, his eyes searching. 'You can't live in the past and you certainly can't undo it. What happened to Uncle Saul has nothing to do with you. Memories can kill, Yvette. The past can reach right up and grab you and drag you to a place you shouldn't be. Like a burning building.

Who is it, exactly, you have needed all these years to forgive,

the line from Ruth's poem. Who hurt you once, so far beyond repair?

It was really a meditation on what he'd learned watching these people. What he'd learned about them and the nature of humanity and what he'd learned about himself. It was a remarkable study of arrogance and humility and, above all, forgiveness.

Regret for things said, for things done, and not done. Regret for the people they might have been. And failed to be.

my experience people who have been hurt either pass it on and become abusive themselves or they develop a great kindness. You're

put it there. He makes us better men and better monks. He believes in God and he believes in the power of love and forgiveness. And not just a faith of convenience.

The bishop-that-burneth.

wisdom: I don't know. I need help. I was wrong. I'm sorry.

lines from The Tempest to unnerve

I said I was only going to recite them once, and he could do with them as he wished." Armand Gamache lowered his fork to his plate and listened. "I don't know. I was wrong. I'm sorry." Lacoste recited them slowly, lifting a finger to count them off. "I need help," the Chief said, completing the statements.

Anything could happen to anyone, at any moment. What made a place safe were the people. The caring. The kindness. The helping. Sometimes the mourning. And often the forgiveness.

There was, or could be, outright danger. Believing a person capable of redemption when they'd proven they were not.

Living our lives was like living in a long house. We entered as babies at one end, and we exited when our time came. And in between we moved through this one, great, long room. Everyone we ever met, and every thought and action lived in that room with us. Until we made peace with the less agreeable parts of our past they'd continue to heckle us from way down the long house. And sometimes the really loud, obnoxious ones told us

I'm sorry, I don't know, I need help, I forget.

I'm sorry. I was wrong. I need help. I don't know. He'd

the four sentences that lead to wisdom. He'd said them only once, never repeating them. But once had been enough for Gamache. I'm sorry. I was wrong. I need help. I don't know.

Did they go back to curse them?" asked Olivier. "Non," said Ruth. "To forgive them. That was the magic." The wizened Anne Lamarque in Clara's painting was smiling. Happy and free.

Really? You have that ability, Chief Inspector? To just forget? Lucky you." They held each other's eyes. No one with gray in their hair got there without things they'd prefer to forget. But could not.

Instead the wiry, self-contained man had stared at him for a few seconds then invited him to sit and told him the four sentences that lead to wisdom. He'd said them only once, never repeating them. But once had been enough for Gamache. I'm sorry. I was wrong. I need help. I don't know.

Be very, very careful who you let into your life. And learn to make peace with whatever happens. You can't erase the past. It's trapped in there with you. But you can make peace with it. If you don't,' he said, 'you'll be at perpetual war.

No man is as bad as the worst thing he's done.

Now here's a good one: you're lying on your deathbed. You have one hour to live. Who is it, exactly, you have needed all these years to forgive?