he knows too much about himself to subject her to a morning after, when he will be cold, surly, impatient to be alone.
People have pain - they do regrettable things, they feel shame, and shame equals pain.
I haven't had a drink in thirteen years, but occasionally I'm tempted to have one beer. The problem is that if I have that one beer, I wake up in Tijuana four days later with a tattoo and a sore ass.
The night I turned twenty-two, I drank a shot for every year. I was so drunk, I'd just walk up to people in the bar and hit them in the balls. My friends drove me home and left me propped up on the couch holding a bucket. I woke up with vomit all over me. The bucket was clean as a whistle.
Nothing may be more selfish than remorse.
When I was young, I told my sister that she had chunky thighs. She slapped me and I cried. She feels bad about it to this day, but I feel worse.
"I'm sorry, I just got carried away," hissed Aziraphale.
I took a lot of things for granted - especially how I treated my body.
I often found myself in situations where I had, without thinking, said too much to too many with too little caution.
I'm constantly meeting people that I hurt, you know? This is not - when I go and talk about these things, this is not a theoretical - it's not a theoretical apology. It's something that I live every day.
If it comes to that," retorted Frederica, with spirt, " I am continually shocked by the things you don't scruple to say to me,cousin! You are quite abominable!" He sighed. "Alas, I know it! The reflection gives me sleepless nights.
I constantly say things that I regret. I mortify myself constantly.
Regret is not an apology. I regret that I ran the stop sign, right, but, yeah, I'm not sorry for what I speaking. I regret that because I got a ticket. You can regret things and still not be sorry for them.
Only insofar as you enjoy being sorry, my dear, which, while it is a considerable amount, occurs only after the fact, thus making it a singularly ineffective deterrent, yes?
It's such a paradox for them to say, "Oh, my God, I've thrown away my life," and continue to do that for the last month of their life. I shake them, physically shake them, and say, "What about now? What about now?"
Yet if he upbraided her in his hurry, it was to repent bitterly his temper the next, and to feel its effects more than she, temper being a weapon that we hold by the blade.
Anger is like a flame blazing up and consuming our self-control, making us think, say, and do things that we will probably regret later.
When I was a kid, I got sent off for head-butting a referee: I ran 50m to argue a decision, I was shown a red card, and I head-butted him. I'm really not proud of that.
I think everyone can relate to the werewolf myth - because we've all, as a result of alcohol, drugs, exhaustion, rage, gone off the leash and come to regret it later. I appeal to this psychologically - the unleashed id - but with a biological cause; I'm hopefully making possible supernatural circumstances.
After you get stung, you can't get unstung no matter how much you whine about it.
