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Quote by Margaret Drabble

“Learning was so dangerous: for how could one tell in advance, while still ignorant, whether a thing could ever be unlearned or forgotten, or if, once known and named, it would invalidate by its significance the whole of one's former life, all of those years wiped out, convicted at one blow, retrospectively darkened by one sudden light?”

Book:The Waterfall

Work

The Waterfall

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Author

Margaret Drabble

Margaret Drabble is a renowned British novelist known for her insightful exploration of social changes and her focus on the lives of women. Her works often delve into the relationship between individuals and society, as well as the impact of historical context on characters' fates. more

“All his life he'd dealt in honour and service, the way a furrier deals in furs or a vintner in wine. On his lips the terms had had specialised political meanings, and he'd long since stopped thinking about what the words stood for in the world at large. Now, unfortunately a little bit too late, he'd been granted a little gleam of insight; service is what makes you stand in the line when nobody would try and stop you if you ran away, and honour is what's left when every other conceivable reason for staying there has long since evaporated.”

Regret Honor Service

Book:Colours in the Steel

Source: Colours in the Steel

“In order to minimize regret, maximize your respect of time and it’s limitations.”

Time Regret Decisions Delay Limitations

Author:Jonathan Heimberg

“Opportunities are like fish on a hook, haul them in when you get the chance before they slip away. You'll always be kicking yourself if you let the Big One go.”

Opportunity Regret Opportunities Regrets Fish Seize The Day Opportunities In Life Seize Every Opportunity Big One Dont Lose An Opportunity

Book:Vocation of a Gadfly

Source: Vocation of a Gadfly

“I loved him not; and yet, now he is gone, I feel I am alone. I check’d him while he spoke; yet, could he speak, Alas! I would not check. For reasons not to love him once I sought, And wearied all my thought To vex myself and him: I now would give My love could he but live Who lately lived for me, and, when he found ’Twas vain, in holy ground He hid his face amid the shades of death. I waste for him my breath Who wasted his for me! but mine returns, And this lorn bosom burns With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, And waking me to weep Tears that had melted his soft heart: for years Wept he as bitter tears. Merciful God! such was his latest prayer, These may she never share. Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold, Than daisies in the mould, Where children spell, athwart the churchyard gate, His name and life’s brief date. Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe’er you be, And oh! pray too for me!”