Anthony de Mello Quotes

She went to the window seat and sat there, sniffling, hating them all, and herself most of all. It was all her fault, everything bad that had happened.

I'm ashamed of what I did.

Guilt is a weird thing to me. I don't have a lot of it.

I don't think I will ever be able to forgive myself for what I have done.

How unhappy is he who cannot forgive himself.

I think it's a lot harder to forgive yourself for your own mistakes.

Guilt: I'm sorry. I made a mistake. Shame: I'm sorry. I am a mistake.

There is no person so severely punished, as those who subject themselves to the whip of their own remorse.

Guilt: the gift that keeps on giving.

I hated myself for so many reasons, and I thought so many things were my fault that happened to me growing up.

Nothing is more wretched than the mind of a man conscious of guilt.

I feel terrible about it. Part of it is the horror of what happened and part of it is my guilt about being a part of it.

I was tormented with guilt for years and years. In fact, it was so bad that if I didn't feel wrong, I didn't feel right!

It figures you've got to hate yourself if you've got any integrity at all.

…I hate myself for not being able to go downstairs naturally and seek comfort in numbers. I hate myself for having to sit here and be torn between I know not what within me.

I have never forgiven myself…that I might have made a mistake.

There is no wretchedness like self-reproach.

Just let yourself be broken and humiliated. Just your whole life, keep telling people, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I held her wrists and then I got it through the eyes: hatred, centuries deep and true. I was wrong and graceless and sick. all the things I had learned had been wasted. there was no creature living as foul as I and all my poems were false.

A lover would find life less broken apart after a misguided love affair if they could feel that they had been sinful rather than foolish.

They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame.

I do not forgive myself for being born. It is as if creeping into this world, I had profaned a mystery, betrayed some momentous pledge, committed a fault of nameless gravity.

[T]hou canst not think worse of me than I do of myself.

I think remorse ought to stop biting the consciences that feed it.

Remorse, the fatal egg that pleasure laid.