Best 1210 quotes in «sorry quotes» category

If only I could touch what’s broken in me, and tell it: “I’m sorry”.

If the crow has to be shoved down your throat; maybe you should just let it fly.

If you fall in love with a writer, I’m sorry!

If you made your girl say sorry, you did not win a fight you won a girl who really loves you.

I know the consequences of what I’ve done. Kill me if You must. There was a long silence, and I could sense Her softening, that strange affection She shared with me above the others. Do you think I rejoice in death? I raised my head. What? There is no joy for Me in punishing you or in taking lives. I do what I must to survive. And not only would I not delight in your death, I would mourn it. You must know by now how dear you are to Me. I swallowed. Why me? Why do I have Your favor more so than the others? She was so tender with me, lifting me up from the sand as if She were cradling a baby. Considering her timelessness and my temporariness, I practically was a newborn in Her eyes. Throughout My many, many years and all the sirens I’ve carried in My hands, none of them has considered Me as you do. There’s been a detachment, a deliberate isolation between them and Me. But you? You come to Me with a sweetness, an attempt to understand. You come to Me even when you are not called. I feel for you what a mother feels for her daughter. To end your life would be to end Mine. I cried again. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt You.

Je suis désolé,' he said. You had to wonder about the French, how they could make a simple 'sorry' sound so extreme and forlorn.

I'll say I'm sorry for the rest of my life if you'll forgive me," he whispered in her ear. "I want to hate you." He pressed his forehead to hers. "You want to, but you don't?" "I love you, you ass.

I'll understand if you don't want me. But I will be heartbroken. You are all I ever dreamed of and hoped for. You are much, much more. Please know that I didn't think I was mean-minded. But I realize I am. I don't want you to put your arms around me and say it's all right, that you forgive me. I want you to be sure that you do, and my love for you will last as long as I live. I can see no lightness, no humour, no joke to make. I just hope that we will be able to go back to when we had laughter, and the world was coloured, not black and white and grey. I am so sorry for hurting you. I could inflict all kinds of pain on myself, but it would not take back any I gave to you. - David Power

I'm sorry Penelope." "Don't waste my time with sorries,Simon.If we stop to apologize and forgive each other every time we step on each other's toes,we'll never have time to be friends.

"Got something for you." He held out an old eight millimeter video camera. "I found it downstairs. It's not working, but I think I can fix it." A video camera? What would I use it for? Recording our great escape? I didn't say that, because I knew it wasn't the point. This was a gift, a way to say "I know I screwed up and I'm sorry." His eyes begged me to take it. Just take it. Forgive him. Forget what happened. Start over. And that's what I wanted to do—accept his gift and smile and see that spark in his eyes and—

I’m sorry,” I whisper. My cold lips fumble the words. “Don’t be.” His voice is a low rumble against me, the sound carrying through my bones, clearer than any of the voices I’ve been hearing. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.

I’m sorry. Really, Echo, I am. I didn’t make the Aires connection until after the movie, I swear.” “It’s fine.” Really—we’re even. You took me to a crappy movie. I left and almost kissed a really hot guy. A guy who made my toes curl and shared his food. A guy I should really stop obsessing over because God knows he’s not thinking about me.

I’m terribly sorry, Fergal.” “What for? Marrying him? I should think you would be, Angel.

I’m sorry, Rob,” she said softly. He grunted. “Sorry is a sorry word.” -A Desperate Journey

I said ”I love you so much it’s killing me” and you kept saying sorry so I stopped explaining for it never made sense to you what always did to me to let what you love kill you and never regret. As Romeo is dying Juliet says ”I am willing to die to remain by your side” and love was never a static place of rest but the last second of euphoria while throwing yourself out from a 20 store window to be able to say ”I flew before I hit the ground”, and it was glorious. Don’t be sorry. The fall was beautiful, dear. The crash was beautiful.

I never said how sorry I was," I ventured, "about your Uncle Amax." Crest sniffed the ukulele fret board. "Why would you be sorry? Why would I?" "Uh... It's just, you know, an expression of courtesy... when you kill someone's relatives.

Sorry. Sorry means you feel the pulse of other people's pain as well as your own, and saying it means you take a share of it. And so it binds us together, makes us trodden and sodden as one another. Sorry is a lot of things. It's a hole refilled. A debt repaid. Sorry is the wake of misdeed. It's the crippling ripple of consequence. Sorry is sadness, just as knowing is sadness. Sorry is sometimes self-pity. But Sorry, really, is not about you. It's theirs to take or leave. Sorry means you leave yourself open, to embrace or to ridicule or to revenge. Sorry is a question that begs forgiveness, because the metronome of a good heart won't settle until things are set right and true. Sorry doesn't take things back, but it pushes things forward. It bridges the gap. Sorry is a sacrament. It's an offering. A gift.

I stare past her at the inspirational kitten posters. There's one of a soaking-wet kitten climbing out of a toilet with the caption "it could be worse!" "Just tell me whatever it is you're thinking," Mrs. Paulsen says. "Whatever is going through your mind right now." "I hope they didn't actually drop a cat in the toilet to get that picture," I choke out. "...Pardon?" "Nothing. Sorry.

It does not pay away a penny from you to say "am sorry", "I won't do that again"! It does not take away your integrity to appreciate the very little that you have obtained from someone, even if it's not much! True humility speaks "little is enough if God is in it.

I thought you were dead,” I say. “It almost killed me.” “Did it?” His voice is neutral. “You made a pretty fast recovery.” “No. You don’t understand.” My throat is tight; I feel as though I’m being strangled. “I couldn’t keep hoping, and then waking up every day and finding out it wasn’t true, and you were still gone. I—I wasn’t strong enough.” He is quiet for a second. It’s too dark to see his expression: He is standing in shadow again, but I can sense that he is staring at me. Finally he says, “When they took me to the Crypts, I thought they were going to kill me. They didn’t even bother. They just left me to die. They threw me in a cell and locked the door.” “Alex.” The strangled feeling has moved from my throat to my chest, and without realizing it, I have begun to cry. I move toward him. I want to run my hands through his hair and kiss his forehead and each of his eyelids and take away the memory of what he has seen. But he steps backward, out of reach. “I didn’t die. I don’t know how. I should have. I’d lost plenty of blood. They were just as surprised as I was. After that it became a kind of game—to see how much I could stand. To see how much they could do to me before I’d—” He breaks off abruptly. I can’t hear any more; don’t want to know, don’t want it to be true, can’t stand to think of what they did to him there. I take another step forward and reach for his chest and shoulders in the dark. This time, he doesn’t push me away. But he doesn’t embrace me either. He stands there, cold, still, like a statue. “Alex.” I repeat his name like a prayer, like a magic spell that will make everything okay again. I run my hands up his chest and to his chin. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Suddenly he jerks backward, simultaneously finding my wrists and pulling them down to my sides. “There were days I would rather they have killed me.” He doesn’t drop my wrists; he squeezes them tightly, pinning my arms, keeping me immobilized. His voice is low, urgent, and so full of anger it pains me even more than his grip. “There were days I asked for it—prayed for it when I went to sleep. The belief that I would see you again, that I could find you—the hope for it—was the only thing that kept me going.” He releases me and takes another step backward. “So no. I don’t understand.

It is possible that some people are sorry for me, but I am not aware of it.

I really miss him. I miss him so much. And I'm so sorry. I am so sorry for everything.

I took a step back as the knob turned and the door swung open. There stood Dad, his eyes red and deeply circled behind his glasses. He looked really pale, like he’d been sick, and I could see his hand shaking on the doorknob. “Bianca.” He didn’t smell like whiskey. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Hi, Dad. I, um, left my keys inside last night, so…” He moved slowly forward, like he was afraid I might run away. Then he wrapped his arms around me, pulled me into his chest, and buried his face in my hair. We stood there together for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, I could tell the words came through sobs. “I’m so, so sorry.

It's too late for sorries, but I appreciate the sentiment.

Maybe all Americans who suffer from melancholy act as if they have gone mad. But I truly thought he might throw himself in the river, and I don't want his ghost visiting to keep telling me he's sorry.

It’s not a perfect world and you’re not a perfect person. You’re going to make mistakes. You’re going to hurt people’s feelings, but there’s no reason for you to carry around a heavy heart. Say you’re sorry and mean it, then move on.

I want to apologize to you,” she says calmly. “Oh yeah? For what?” I don’t have time for this. We don’t have time for this. I push away thoughts of what will happen to Hana even if I manage to escape. She’ll be here, in the house . . . My stomach is clenching and unclenching. I’m worried the bread will come straight back up. I have to stay focused. What happens to Hana isn’t my concern, and it isn’t my fault, either. “For telling the regulators about 37 Brooks,” she says. “For telling them about you and Alex.” Just like that, my brain powers down. “What?" “I told them.” She lets out a tiny exhalation, as though saying the words has given her relief. “I’m sorry. I was jealous.” I can’t speak. I’m swimming through a fog. “Jealous?” I manage to spit out. “I—I wanted what you had with Alex. I was confused. I didn’t understand what I was doing.” She shakes her head again. I have a swinging, seasick feeling. It doesn’t make any sense. Hana—golden girl Hana, my best friend, fearless and reckless. I trusted her. I loved her. “You were my best friend.” “I know.” Again she looks troubled, as though trying to recall the meaning of the words. “You had everything.” I can’t stop my voice from rising. The anger is vibrating, ripping through me like a live current. “Perfect life. Perfect grades. Everything.” I gesture to the spotless kitchen, to the sunshine pouring over the marble counters like drizzled butter. “I had nothing. He was my one thing. My only—” The sickness surges up and I take a step forward, clenching my fists, blind with rage. “Why couldn’t you let me have it? Why did you have to take it? Why did you always take everything?

Looking into his eyes she pleaded, "Don't hurt me like that again, Greg, please. I couldn't bear the way you looked at me like you hated me."She sobbed. He grasped her face in his hands. "I could never hate you. It's me that I hate. I'll never,ever be so stupid again, I promise. I'm such an idiot. I care about you so much. I would never really want to hurt you, ever. I just don't know what else to do Mallory...I...I love you so much...I don't care anymore if it's wrong...All I care about is you. If friends are what we are then that's what we are. I'll get used to it, I promise I will." He hugged her again, "I can't be without you in my life. I said some terrible things.Can you forgive me?

Love forgives and keeps no records of wrongs .

Maybe time would not feel as heavy if I didn't have this guilt - the guilt of knowing the truth and stuffing it down where no one can see it.

May wished more than anything that she could show them both how much she loved them. She felt very sorry. Her whole heart was sorry for everything she had ever done to worry them. She closed her eyes and tried to send her love all the way to Earth. She didn't know if it could travel that far.

Maybe that's what writers do- Maybe they exaggerate pain just so that you feel okay about what you're feeling.

Mitch, I don't allow myself any more self-pity than that. A little each morning, a few tears, and that's all." I thought about all the people I knew who spent many of their waking hours feeling sorry for themselves. How useful it would be to put a daily limit on self-pity. Just a few minutes, then on with the day. And if Morrie could do it, with such a horrible disease . . .

Men: "I was wrong. I'm sorry" Women: (Shit! What else can I fight with him about?)

Mtu akikutukana mwambie asante au samahani. Asante au samahani vina nguvu kuliko kuomba (asikutukane) au kutukana.

My eyes meet his eyes. “You were a jerk,” I say. His hands move to my cheeks. “I’m sorry.” I pull away, but I can only go an inch before I bump into lacrosse sticks, not that I really want to go any farther. “Nope. No way. You do not get to kiss me yet.” He pouts.

My nerves came back in full force. I'd thrown myself in the deep end, and, feeling like I had no idea how to swim, I had to get back to shore somehow. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

Never feel sorry for not being whatever people want you to be.

Never hide your identity, where it needed. Otherwise, you may feel the shame, pity, and sorry, for that.

Nick leans down and kisses my eyelids. “Loving you, Zara, is a full-time job. It’s a great job, don’t get me wrong. It’s the best job in the universe. But it is not easy, because you tend to . . .” “Get hurt?” Betty suggests. “Find trouble? Pass out? Break arms?” “All of the above.” Nick laughs. My hand finds Nick’s wrist and I grab onto its thickness. “You know, I’m the patient here. Where’s the bedside manner? Where’s the sympathy?” “Zara, sympathy is just a good excuse to buy greeting cards and make sorry eyes and secretly gloat over how glad you are that you aren’t the person whose crap is hanging out there for the world to see,” Betty says.

No. I made that choice. I let all that anger and pain get twisted up in my thoughts for you.” He leaned in. “It fucking kills me. Every night. I relive what I did to you every night.” His forehead rested against mine. “Until you,” he said softly, “I never felt truly helpless.

Okay this guy looks like nerves, this guy sounds like angry, so the first will be the victim the angry guy more is suitable for a killer, isn't he? Angry stage, a stage in which you can do everything and when you become victim you start to feel sorry.

Oh, oh, oh I'm so sorry for you... but the real truth is that you make this to happen. (Believe or not I definite like this!)

One deep breath, one last step and out into oblivion where death held out its arms into a welcoming embrace.

One of the greatest ever statement that can keep you at peace with others is that "I am right, but I may be wrong"! Yes, we know you are right but you may be wrong!

On the way home my father said tiredly he hoped some day I'd realize it was necessary to live with people. I didn't understand him. He said a lot of other things that made me feel sorry for him, because he just couldn't stand up to a situation.

People in the world ask for forgiveness, but [true] ‘pratikraman’ does not happen by doing that. That is like when people casually say ‘sorry’ or ‘thank you’. There is no significance in that; the significance is of ‘alochana-pratikraman-pratyakhyan’ (acknowledgement of the mistake, repentance and asking for forgiveness for the mistake, remorse and avowal not to repeat the mistake, respectively).

People speak broken Swahili on purpose. Business people for instance will speak Sheng – a mixture of Swahili and English – because that’s what people want to hear. And what is the government doing? They speak broken Swahili most of the time. Swahili is getting lost and I am really sorry for the future generations.

People with responsibility and people without responsibility are sorry for each other.

Saying 'I'm sorry' earns you my attention; proving you're sorry earns you my heart.