regret

You've turned out good.You've made me proud, Markos.I am fifty-five years old. I have waited all my life to hear those words. Is it too late now for this? For us? Have we squandered too much for too long? Part of me thinks it is better to go on as we have, to act as though we don't know how ill suited we have been for each other. Less painful that way. Perhaps better than this belated offering. This fragile, trembling little glimpse of how it could have been between us. All it will beget is regret, I tell myself, and what good is regret? It brings back nothing. What we have lost is irretrievable.

Because even if you buried yourself in guilt, you can't go back and change what happened.

Kahneman__ evidence shows that we suck at remembering and predicting our own well-being. We as a culture still ignore this empirical evidence, recommending to live our lives so as to avoid deathbed regrets. Deathbed regrets are like Hollywood films: they stir passions for a couple hours, but are poorly connected to reality. They are not good criteria for a well-lived life.

I threw bitter tears at the ocean, but all that came back was the tide.

Nothing to be proud of, nothing to regret.

Each year's regrets are envelopes in which messages of hope are found for the New Year.

Regrets are a waste of time and waste of time brings about regrets. It's the best ironic cycle after life and death!

It was really over, I thought. There was no way to go back, to make it stay. There was never that.

Save the contrition for the confessional. Regret isn't worth a damn to anyone.

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.

Those who refuse to grow, those who only finish school and call it quits regret through life.

I never want to regret the kisses I missed.

I stilled. I was sure I'd imagined that all too familiar voice, but there he was. His bright blue eyes saying far more than his words ever could. His iris' held pain and anger and my shame increased tenfold. How foolish I was to think what I'd done would matter to him, or how his reaction would mean so much to me.

It is not the jumps you made in your life but mostly the jumps you haven__ made are the real source of regrets in your life!

Any anger I feel vanishes. What is left cannot be described. It is guilt piled onto emptiness and set afire.

I lost myself in finding you, nothing has made me feel so wasted ever.

he should have done all things otherwise: poignant regrets, weary, incessant toiling of the mind to change what was unchangeable, to plan what was now useless, to be the architect of the irrevocable past.

Live your life so you don´t have to have any regrets when you throw your 70 year old birthday party