Best 2371 quotes in «regret quotes» category

Se lotto goffamente, è colpa tua. Anche il mio essere attaccata alla vita è colpa tua. Sei tu che mi hai fatto scoprire il rimpianto per il tempo che non potevo passare insieme a te.

SHAZAM: —I just don’t want to see us turned into something we despise.

She could not bring herself to turn away from the night sky, for the stars and the blackness were the only escape she had when old faded memories returned to haunt her.

She cried aloud, with a great mourning cry for all that she had never known in this life, and the agony of a bereavement unguessed till this moment.

She chose the attractive room, not noticing the cloven hoof exposed beneath the ornate curtains. That decision has surely haunted her every day since, finally catching up to her.

She could now be sad without losing a jot of hope. Nay, rather, the least approach of sadness would begin at once to wake her hope. She regretted nothing that had come, nothing that had gone. She believed more and more that not anything worth having is ever lost; that even the most evanescent shades of feeling are safe for those who grow after their true nature, toward that for which they were made—in other and higher words, after the will of God.

She could, she thinks, have entered a different life. She could have had a life as potent and dangerous as literature itself.

She could not picture it. Herself riding on the subway or streetcar, caring for new horses, talking to new people, living among hordes of people every day who were not Clark. A life, a place, chosen for that specific reason––that it would not contain Clark. The strange and terrible thing coming clear to her about that world of the future, as she now pictured it, was that she would not exist there. She would only walk around, and open her mouth and speak, and do this and do that. She would not really be there. And what was strange about it was that she was doing all this, she was riding on this bus in the hope of recovering herself. As Mrs. Jamieson might say––and as she herself might with satisfaction have said––taking charge of her own life. With nobody glowering over her, nobody's mood infecting her with misery. But what would she care about? How would she know that she was alive? While she was running away from him––now––Clark still kept his place in her life. But when she was finished running away, when she just went on, what would she put in his place? What else––who else––could ever be so vivid a challenge?

She didn’t know exactly when she had first felt the sensation of regret. It was a physical sensation, a shudder that began deep in the stomach and traveled up through the throat; it was distinct from remorse, which one felt first in the throat and only later in the gut. Yet it was regret that she couldn’t handle. She did anything she could to avoid it—including the initial bargain, the one that began everything. And now this one.

She had lost him. Lost him because she'd let him go. And she could not allow herself to regret that decision.

She had dispersed. She was the garden at Prem Nivas (soon to be entered into the annual Flower Show), she was Veena's love of music, Pran's asthma, Maan's generosity, the survival of some refugees four years ago, the neem leaves that would preserve quilts stored in the great zinc trunks of Prem Nivas, the moulting feather of some pond-heron, a small unrung brass bell, the memory of decency in an indecent time, the temperament of Bhaskar's great-grandchildren. Indeed, for all the Minsisster of Revenue's impatience with her, she was his regret. And it was right that she should continue to be so, for he should have treated her better while she lived, the poor, ignorant, grieving fool.

She lashed herself with every failing she could think of, then every regret, and fell to the ground, sobbing.

She moved back in with us three months after coming back. And every day, I waited for her to leave again. I knew she would. I knew it in the core of my soul. And the, one day, she did. But not the way I thought. She died. A massive heart attack at the age of forty-nine. And for the second time in my life, I'd been left by mu mother. But this time, it was for good. And it wasn't her fault, which was the hardest part of it to wrap my mind around. I couldn't hate her for leaving this time. But I could hate myself a little for failing to let her back in when I still had the chance.

She said once that time is nothing to me but a series of bookmarks that I use to jump back and forth through the text of my life, returning again and again to the events that mark me in the eyes of my more astute colleagues, as bearing all the characteristics of the classic melancholic.

She saw how the weight of his mistake, the affair, weighed down on him and he cried, brushing the tears on his cheeks away brusquely; his eyes rimmed with dark circles looked haunted.

She was stung by sharp regret thinking about the sheets and tablecloths, so costly and never used due to excessive regard.

She would never forget how his soul was lonely as the moon they’d met under, and how, for several brief moments, she’d been able to chase the loneliness away.

Shijun, we can't go back.

She watched him from afar and gave him the time and space to travel the emotional rollercoaster, commencing at stunned, progressing to upset and lurking at angry. Then he brooded and grieved for the end of his life as he knew it.

So at least I could rest my soul knowing I had truly given it my all. And when my future child asks why I stopped pursuing a dream I had had for so many years, I can say with no regret, "The love I have for you and your mother is far greater than any dream.

Somehow, the more I get older, and the more I see of people and sadness and illness and everything, the sorrier I get for everyone.

So many men and women I have wronged, reduced to ghosts and shades. They surround me, but I can never let them know I regret what I have cost them, both the living and the dead.

Some details escaped her, but the regret remained with her.

Some of us live in the future, Connected to hurts from our past, If tomorrow is colored by bitter regret, Then today has been painted black Some of us live in the present Connected to gifts from our past, If tomorrow is colored by purposeful thought, the today's masterpiece has been cast.

Some people are just time bombs, waiting to explode. Inevitably taking with them anyone foolish enough too get close. You were my time bomb, waiting to detonate my heart & leave ruins in the wake of your aftermath. And I was naive enough to have ignored that eminent threat.

so here i sit. a sum of the parts. about a third way down this wonderful path, so to speak. and i've been thinking lately about a friendship that fell apart with time, with distance, and with the misunderstanding of youth. i'm trying not to confuse sadness with regret. not the easiest thing at times. i dont regret that certain things happened. i understand that perhaps i had a choice in the matter, or perhaps i believe in fate. probably not, but so far actions as small as the quickest glance to events as monumental as death have pushed me slowly along to right here, right now. there was no other way to get here. the meandering and erratic path was actually the straightest of lines. take away a handful of angry words, things once thought of as mistakes or regrets, and i'm suddenly a different person with a different history, a different future. that, i would regret. so here i sit. thinking about a person i once called my best friends. a man who might be full of sadness and regret, who might not give a damn, or who might, just might, remember the future and realize that's where its at.

Some people are just time bombs, waiting to explode. Inevitably taking with them anyone foolish enough to get close. You were my time bomb, waiting to detonate my heart & leave ruins in the wake of your aftermath. And I was naive enough to have ignored that eminent threat.

Some people know the exact moment when they've lost everything. They can look back and see it plain as day and for the life of them they can't understand why they didn't spot the situation as it was happening.

Sometimes all you need is to forgive yourself.

Some thoughts should never be conceived. Some questions should never be asked, because they have no answer, and the questions themselves serve only to haunt with grinding guilt and second guessing.

Sometimes,’ Brys ventured, ‘when nothing can be shared except regret, then regret must serve as the place to begin. Reconciliation does not demand that one side surrender to the other. The simple, mutual recognition that mistakes were made is in itself a closing of the divide.

Sometimes I hear Mark laugh, and some days in the car the right song will come on the satellite radio and I'll feel him there tingling like a phantom limb. Like he's sitting there next to me in the dark. But I know that's not so. And I know that when you die there's not even darkness, and I know Mark and me won't meet on some cloud or in some pit of fire. And I guess that's a good thing. I couldn't take those eyes seeing what's become of me, those eyes looking down at my hands and my chewed-up ragged nails.

Sometimes, I feel able to write lines about my life and about how I do feel everyday in such a huge book, but sometimes I either prefer to write one word that describe it or just to say nothing at all.

Sometimes it took death for me to see life, don't live with regrets keep your head high. In a world filled with beauty I don't want to blink twice; soak up every moment because you can't stop time.

Sometimes I wish life was written pencil so we could erase it and write it all over again.

Sometimes people get angry and do things they shouldn't. Things they regret.

Sometimes things just slip past you, into your hands and out through your fingers. In my half-in/half-out state I began to wonder if that could happen to people, too.

Some things, if you don't do them, they follow you all your life, whispering in your ear," says Granny Carne. She faces me sternly as if she's judging me. "You'll find a dozen good reasons why you pulled back from the Call, and you'll even fool yourself that you had no other choice. But in your bed at night you'll curse yourself for a coward.

Sometimes we find we love things we never thought we wanted. And then we regret that we never wanted them at all. It's the fear of change, I think, and dread of the unknown.

Sometimes, without effort, you live in the moment. You don't regret the past or worry about the future, and in that moment everything flashes before your eyes , a clear snapshot of what has to be done, and everything pauses.

Sometimes, you have the whole world in your hands, and you don’t realize it until it’s shattered, left crumbled and sparkling in your palms. That you don’t know that you’ve lived your best days, not until they’re gone.

SONG OF DAWN I saw the sun rise by accident. It was a horrible sight. Annoyed by its splendor, I sought refuge in a moist pillow, and lay there, alone, at the dawn of another day, that brought me closer to another death, pondering the vanity of my solitude, the vanity of procrastination, and the tiresome inevitability of waking up again the same person. It might still be possible to change, but obstinately I remain the same, hoping that others might take solace in my consistency. But perhaps they take no solace in it, perhaps they too find it tedious.

Sometimes you cannot clear the past completely. You must live alongside your sorrow.

Sometimes you do things you regret, but there's nothing you can do about them. Times change. Doors close behind you. You move on.

Sometimes when I'm writing a superhero story I wonder if they really have to punch each other in the face. Is that really going to solve anything? I feel the same way sometimes when I watch episodes of Law & Order. I'm like, "Yeah, right. You found the sex offender and now everything is fine." TV is big on closure, but I think closure is horseshit in real life. I'm still haunted by stuff I did in my teen years when I think about it too much.

So, Mom says, “sometimes you have to choose what kind of regret you can live with.

So, what did you learn? Curiosity asked the Cat, then poked her carcass with a stick.

Spijt moet je niet hebben’, zegt hij. Ik knik. ‘Heb je me wel gehoord, Eva?’ Ik knik opnieuw. ‘Wat zei ik dan?’ ‘Dat je nooit spijt moet hebben,’ zeg ik. ‘Ik versta je niet.’ ‘Spijt moet je nooit hebben,’ herhaal ik, luider.

Speech one may regret, Silence no sorrow begets, Humility be born before honour, Soft answer turns wrath’s corner

Speak when you're angry, and you'll make the best speech you'll ever regret.