I Realised My Mistake Quotes

When I look at my life I realise that the mistakes I have made, the things I really regret, were not errors of judgement but failures of feeling.

When's your birthday?" I was taken aback by the question. "I don't like presents,"I said quickly, in case he got any ideas. "Who said anything about presents? I'm just asking for your date of birth." "Thirtieth of February," I said, throwing out the first date that came to mind. Xavier raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?" I panicked. What had I said wrong? I ran through the months in my head and realised my mistake. OOPS--there were only twenty-eight days in February! "I mean thirtieth of April," I corrected and grinned sheepishly. Xavier laughed. "You're the first person I've ever known to forget her own birthday.

And then to my surprise in one of them I discovered the original manuscript of On Friendship. Puzzled, I unrolled it, thinking I must have brought it with me by mistake. But when I saw that Cicero had copied out at the top of the roll in his shaking hand a quotation from the text, on the importance of having friends, I realised it was a parting gift: If a man ascended into heaven and gazed upon the whole workings of the universe and the beauty of the stars, the marvellous sight would give him no joy if he had to keep it to himself. And yet, if only there had been someone to describe the spectacle to, it would have filled him with delight. Nature abhors solitude.

One day, I wish to find a man like in my books. He has to be just like in one of my books. And he has to love me, love me more than anything in the world. Most important of all, he has to think I’m beautiful.” “Lily, I need to tell you something.” Fazire was going to tell her about Becky’s wish and his mistake and let her look forward to something, let her look forward to the incomparable beauty she was going to be. Most of all, he had to stop her wish now. He didn’t want her wasting it on some fool idea. He wanted it to be special, perfect, to make her world better like she had made Becky and Will’s and, indeed, his. But again she didn’t hear him. Her eyes were bright and they were steady on his. “He has to be tall, very tall and dark and broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped.” Fazire stared. He didn’t even know what “narrow-hipped” meant. “And he has to be handsome, unbelievably handsome, impossibly handsome with a strong, square jaw and powerful cheekbones and tanned skin and beautiful eyes with lush, thick lashes. He has to be clever and very wealthy but hardworking. He has to be virile, fierce, ruthless and rugged.” Now she was getting over his head. He didn’t think there was such a thing as impossibly handsome. How cheekbones could be powerful, Fazire didn’t know. He was even thinking he might have to look up “virile” in the dictionary Sarah had given him. “And he has to be hard and cold and maybe a little bit forbidding, a little bit bad with a broken heart I have to mend or one encased in ice I have to melt or better yet… both!” Fazire thought this was getting a bit ridiculous. It was the most complicated wish he’d ever heard. But she wasn’t yet finished. “We have to go through some trials and tribulations. Something to test our love, make it strong and worthy. And… and… he has to be daring and very masculine. Powerful. People must respect him, maybe even fear him. Graceful too and lithe, like a… like a cat! Or a lion. Or something like that.” She was losing steam and Fazire had to admit he was grateful for it. “And he has to be a good lover.” Lily shocked Fazire by saying. “The best, so good, he could almost make love to me just by using his eyes.” Fazire felt himself blush. Perhaps he should have a look at these books she was reading and show them to Becky. Lily was a very sharp girl, sharp as a tack (another one of Sarah’s sayings, although Fazire couldn’t imagine a tack ever being as clever as Lily) but she was too young to be reading about any man making love to her with his eyes. Fazire had never made love, never would, genies just didn’t. But he was pretty certain fourteen year old girls shouldn’t be thinking about it. Though, he was wrong about that, or at least Becky would tell him that later. Then Fazire realised she’d stopped talking. “Is that it?” he asked. She thought for a bit, clearly not wanting to leave anything out. Then she nodded.

Once, in the morning, I decided I would be a biologist, and spent hours in the library studying, preparing for my amazing career. I told the librarian, who still smiles at me. She must think I will get out of this place and make it one day. One book I found about organisms was so fascinating I sat down with it in the stacks, engrossed. It took me fifteen minutes to realise it was about orgasms. I read until lunch and then hid the book on the shelf.

I often think about this now, and there are many dangerous narratives that we unwittingly string together as privileged people whose voices are heard. So many of the people I met in Cambodia, who had very little in the way of possessions, seemed happier than many I knew back home who ostensibly had everything they could ever have hoped for. I now feel very uncomfortable reflecting upon how I viewed this at that time, particularly my remarking upon how many people I saw in Cambodia who seemed so happy, despite having so little. I began to realise that this ill-informed view was actually propagating a dangerous narrative. People survive – it is what we are designed to do. We survive with what we have. People can still fall in love, forge friendships, find joy in nature, but we observers should not mistake the momentary joys of living for someone being perpetually happy. In particular, we should not assume that it is their lack of material possessions, and especially not their lack of access to modern healthcare, education, and even food and water, that enables them to live ‘such a carefree life’.

I am Hannah fucking Kabbah. I go to the supermarket every week without a shopping list. I once memorised an entire psychology textbook the day before an exam after realising I'd been revising the wrong module for weeks. And guess what? I got an A. I spent the first few years of my professional life keeping multiple toddlers alive. Do you know how hard it is to keep toddlers alive, Ms. Chai Latte? It's really fucking hard. And I was good at it. I do not get things wrong. I do not make mistakes. I do not fuck up FUCKING CHAI LATTES. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? This is what Hannah thought. But what she said was... Oh. Wait. Shit.

Dietrich Eckart always judged the world of jurists with the greatest clear-sightedness, the more so as he had himself studied law for several terms. According to his own evidence, he decided to break off these studies "so as not to become a perfect imbecile". Dietrich Eckart, by the way, is the man who had the brilliant idea of nailing the present juridical doctrines to the pillory and publishing the result in a form easily accessible to the German people. For myself, I supposed it was enough to say these things in an abbreviated form. It's only with time that I've come to realise my mistake. Thus to-day I can declare without circumlocution that every jurist must be regarded as a man deficient by nature, or else deformed by usage. When I go over the names of the lawyers I've known in my life, and especially the advocates, I cannot help recognising by contrast how morally wholesome, honourable and rooted in the best traditions were the men with whom Dietrich Eckart and I began our struggle in Bavaria.

His red hair was tied back, and there wasn't a hint of finery on him, just armoured leather, swords, knives... His metal eye roamed over me, his golden skin pale. 'We've been hunting you for over two months,' he breathed, now scanning the woods, the stream, the sky. Rhys. Cauldron save me. Rhys was too far back, and- 'How did you find me?' My steady, cold voice wasn't one I recognised. But- hunting for me. As if I were indeed prey. If Tamlin was here... My blood went icier than the freezing rain now sluicing down my face, into my clothes. 'Someone tipped us off you'd been out here, but it was luck that we caught your scent on the wind, and-' Lucien took a step toward me. I stepped back. Only three feet between me and the stream. Lucien's eye widened slightly. 'We need to get out of here. Tamlin's been- he hasn't been himself. I'll take you right to-' 'No,' I breathed. The word rasped through the rain, the stream, the pine forest. The four sentinels glanced between each other, then to the arrow I kept aimed. Lucien took me in again. And I could see what he was gleaming: the Illyrian fighting leathers. The colour and fullness that had returned to my face, my body. And the silent steel of my eyes. 'Feyre,' he said,' holding out a hand. 'Let's go home.' I didn't move. 'That stopped being my home the day you let him lock me up inside of it.' Lucien's mouth tightened. 'It was a mistake. We all made mistakes. He's sorry- more sorry than you realise. So am I.' He stepped toward me, and I backed up another few inches.

Her name was Andromache. And she was... so beautiful. And kind. And I loved her... so much.' Human. Andromache had been human. My eyes burned. 'But she was human. And a queen- who needed to continue her royal line, especially during such a tumultuous time. So I left- went home after the last battle. And when I realised what a mistake it was, that I didn't care if I only had sixty more years with her... The wall went up that day.' A small sob came out of her. 'And I could not... I was not allowed or able to cross it. I tried. For three years, I tried over and over. And by the time I managed to find a hole to cross... She had married. A man. And had an infant daughter- with another on the way. I didn't set foot inside her castle. Didn't even try to see her. I just turned around and went home.' 'I'm so sorry,' I breathed, my voice breaking. 'She bore five children. And died an old woman, safe in her bed. And I saw her spirit again- in that golden queen. Her descendent.

Her mother bought her a burgundy pair of VANS summer shoes in Italy, and they took a picture of her laughing happily while holding them in her hand in an exaggerated scene, as if they had been teasing him to take a picture of her for her boyfriend in a park somewhere in Italy. Shortly after, she started wearing them in Barcelona and cut off the tiny VANS logo with a scissor. When I asked her why, she tried to avoid answering at first until she said something like she didn't like it, or that they looked better without the tiny black VANS logos. It was suspicious that someone must have told her the urban legend in Barcelona soon after her Italian vacation, that VANS stands for „Vans Are Nazi Shoes.” It became more and more obvious in Barcelona that my life was in danger, as an awful vibe surrounded us due to the construction. It was mostly caused by rich tourists who I had never seen do much work in life, too high to take on a task as simple as changing a password on a bank account on an iPhone app – a crime organisation, quite international already and increasingly so, with a growing number of participants and secrets becoming more and more dangerous, I thought, and I wasn’t wrong, I just couldn’t see the whole picture yet as I was blindfolded. As if her nickname, Stupid Bunny which she had printed out at Ample Store with Adam, was a cute, nice thing, a reassurance after the day before she had been crying for some unknown reason and printing out the phrase, “You never loved me, you just broke my heart.” That couldn't have been further from the truth. She would fidget around and draw at home, and I didn't realise she was bored of being with me when she had so many other options in her mind because of what others had fed her, as if I was a monogamist who wouldn’t forgive her for cheating or making a mistake. Even if I had seen her, when she showed up at home she seemed in love with herself, watching herself in the mirror in her new tight, short shorts. It was weird. I had noticed something strange in Martina for a while now and I couldn’t put my finger on it. I thought it was only the drugs she was secretly doing behind my back, but I was far away from having all the answers.

But I realise that people are just people, and they carry their own set of fear, dreams, desires, pains and mistakes. I can’t expect someone else to make me feel complete; I must find it on my own;

While I’ve worked in numerous banks over my career, I’ve realised that the only one that will never go out of demand is the bank of Mum and Dad.

My brain was whirring. James was having a baby. He is two years younger than me. My brother was taking the greatest life step before me. I was nearly 40. My wife was nearly 40. I desperately wanted children. But we had not even been trying. What on earth had we been waiting for? Anya’s clock was ticking. My clock was ticking. I was nearly the age my dad was when he had me. I had always thought of him as an old dad and that, unlike him, I would have children when I was younger. Being an old dad was now to be my unavoidable fate too. In that second – in that fraction of a second – all of this rocketed around my head, and I realised I had made the greatest mistake of my life.

Our mind determines our actions. The more we fear failure, the greater the chances of failure. I realise my mistake. The repetitive statements about my intense dislike of hills have actually fuelled my negativity.

At a key point in the letter James told his readers: “You do not have because you do not ask God” (4:2). Prayer makes a difference. Your prayer makes a difference. “The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective” (5:16). One of the most successful advertising campaigns of recent years came from a regional airline in the US during the run-up to Christmas. They set up a “virtual Santa” in the departure lounge of a domestic flight. Passengers would scan their boarding pass, activating a screen featuring Santa (located somewhere else and with access to their flight details), who would then ask them what they wanted for Christmas before sending them on their way. Unbeknownst to the passengers, employees from the airline then went out to local malls to purchase and wrap the very things the passengers had asked for—everything from new socks to a widescreen TV. When the passengers arrived at their destination, their gifts arrived along with their luggage at the baggage belt. Many stood in disbelief when they realised what had happened. Needless to say, the video recording their reactions went viral, providing the airline with way more publicity and goodwill than a standard commercial would have generated. But after the warm glow from watching it subsided, I had one thought in my mind: The guy who only asked for socks must be kicking himself. Once he’d realised what had happened, surrounded by people with expensive cameras and tablets, he must have felt a little foolish clutching a pair of socks. If only he had known. If only he had asked. James does not want us to make the same mistake. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective. It is real. Things actually happen. God answers. How foolish we are not to pray far more than we do. How foolish, at the end of the day, aware of all that we could have had, to be left clutching the equivalent of a pair of socks that we never even realised we would get. Not every Christian can be a great theologian, preacher, missionary or evangelist. But every Christian can be a great and effective pray-er.

When I became a young woman I realised, through my own suffering and mistakes, that kindness without courage made me a vulnerable and crippled citizen. Without courage, other people could, and would, hurt me, dishonour my talents, and take anything from me that they wanted for themselves. I was fair game and an easy target.

That's how I've felt about making this music, as an act of destroying myself, & for what, peoples mild amusement? longing for things to go wrong? fame & fortune? I'm not sure anymore. anything I do or say will be viewed by thousands of people, picked apart, criticised by people who think it's in any way at all important. It's hardly a spotlight, it's a magnifying glass under the sun. I never expected things to have been this way, when I was younger I wanted to be the next GG Alin, but more importantly, stay underground, stay unknown, & keep this as a hobby only, push the boundaries, piss people off, black metal aesthetic, etc. & anyone who questioned it can get the finger. But then I grew up, I matured, & saw the world differently, I changed. But the internet is the internet, & Ive been paying for those mistakes by the pound. These things I've done that I regret & have done my best to atone for, simply won't matter, not when people show no forgiveness & want nothing but blood to pay the debts. & blood is what they will get, & even then I'm not sure it will be enough. Even in saying this, even by coming back at all, It feels like I'm just lighting myself on fire & then watch all the moths come towards me. I sometimes get asked what's it's like to be famous, a thought which never occurs to me but whenever people ask I look at my numbers & realise how far I've come, & I don't feel pride, I feel paranoid, I feel threatened. that's how many people are watching you now. & every time I tell them the same thing. Don't ever be famous, It destroys you, I hate being me.

It’s making me suspicious of everyone. Everywhere I go I’m looking at people and wondering if it’s them. I hate it. I don’t want to be suspicious of people. I just want the whole thing to go away. To stop. At first I thought it was a few people ganging up on me, jumping on my feminism, as though being a feminist was the worst thing a woman could be. But after a while I realised that it wasn’t really about feminism at all. It was just one person with some sort of grudge against me. That person just kept on and on … and is still sending me letters now.” “We’ll find out who it is. I can look at the whole thing with fresh eyes.” “With a detective’s eyes, you mean?” “Is that so bad? We have to treat it like a police matter and look at all the possibilities. You’d be surprised at how many clues might be contained in as many letters as these. Physical clues, such as the paper and envelopes, the way the stamps are stuck on the envelopes, finger-prints and so on … and clues in the wording.” “There are some spelling and grammatical errors,” she sighed, almost in a gesture of defeat. “Exactly. Those errors can be clues.” “Just in this last letter, the writer has used dont without the apostrophe and your and you’re the wrong way round. They are mistakes that have been repeated again and again over the months. There are quite a lot of spelling mistakes in the earlier, longer letters. I’m not sure how much that will narrow it down, though. Loads of people don’t know when they’re supposed to use apostrophes, so they just guess. And loads of people can’t spell.” “It might help,” he nodded positively. “We should also look at who might have a motive for writing these letters. Is there anyone in your past you think could be responsible?” She shivered. “Like I told you, I’ve had months to think about it. I’ve wondered about practically everyone I’ve ever met and I hate thinking about people that way, especially people I know.” “I can be more objective and maybe I can come up

I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from, but I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am. You have to know that I would never do anything to hurt you, at least not intentionally, but I made a big mistake, a huge mistake this time. I realise there’s no going back, and I’m not asking for that; I just wanted to let you to know how much I regret what happened, and how I wish from the bottom of my heart it never happened, or that I hadn’t caused it. But it did, and it’s all my fault, and I would do anything to have the chance to go back and undo it all. But I can’t. I know I don’t have any right to ask, but I hope you’re OK? I’m really not sure what else to say. Just know that I never meant to hurt you, and I’m so very, very sorry.

Iknow I’m probably the last person you want to hear from, but I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. You have to know that I would never do anything intentionally to hurt you, but I made a big mistake, a huge mistake. I realise there’s no going back, and I’m not asking for that; I just wanted to let you know how much I regret what happened and how I wish from the bottom of my heart it didn’t happen, or that I hadn’t caused it. But it did and it’s all my fault, and I would do anything for a chance to go back and undo it. I know I can’t do that. I also know I don’t have any right to ask, but I hope you’re OK? I’m really not sure what else to say. Just know that I never meant to hurt you and I’m so very, very sorry. Please forgive me.

remembered him coming home after long shifts and immediately sitting down at the kitchen table, forcing my mother to listen to his complaints about all his difficult colleagues and the maître d’s, not to mention the diners he had to put up with. I never heard him accept responsibility for any tricky situation that had arisen; it was always the other person who had been in the wrong. When I was a child, I thought my father was an amazing man who never made any mistakes, but as time went on I realised that of course he was simply blaming someone else. That was also why he burdened himself with what sometimes seemed like a bottomless sorrow over a life that had turned out to be a failure.

We had said we expected hardship, no paradise, but we really wanted both. We thought we could come in peace and find a happy niche in another ecology. Instead we found a battlefield. The east vine turned us into servile mercenaries, nothing more than big, clever fippokats helping it win another battle. We had wanted to begin the world afresh, far from Earth and all its mistakes. That had not happened, but only I realised it, and I kept my disappointment to myself.

What’s most funny is that my composer friend confuses and confounds the racial stereotypes of everybody. He is very traditionally ‘well spoken’ - even posh - and a classical composer. He is also one of the best-dressed men going and manages to pull off 'out there’ fashions that most brothers would never try, such as tweed suits and ponchos. Black people sometimes hear the accent, see the clothes and assume 'he wants to be white’, because they have sadly internalised the idea that there are only certain types of authentic ways to be black. I’ve seen their shock too, when they realise how ‘black’ his politics are despite the suits, the piano and the RP. He actually knows far more about African history and culture than the vast majority of dashiki-wearing Afrocentrists. White people often make the same mistake and say the strangest of things to him, again thinking that he is not one of ‘those’ black people - you know, the ones that respect and love themselves.

I was wrong, I have committed a huge mistake, but you don’t want me, I will understand you. You are all I ever hoped for. You very high in my regard abs much much more. Please know this I was not that mean - minded. But I realised it now. I don’t want you to put your arms around me and say it’s all right, that you forgive me. I want you to be sure that you do and my care and concern for you will last as long as I love and live. I can see no darkness, no humor, no joke to make, no simple to show. I just wish that we will be back to each other on mirror and smiling at each other. Laugh together and world is colored back again. Not black and white but grey. I M so sorry for troubling you and hurting you. I could feel all kind of pain on myself, but it would not take back any I gave it to you, I’m sorry. Forgive if you can or punish if you can but atleast identify me if you can

I quit my high paying job in a Fortune 100 company to pursue my dream of helping people realise their dreams. I don’t make a lot of money now but I am happy. To whomever on the internet is selling people the dream that if you do what you love and work really hard you will make lots of money, please stop. Your passion is not a guarantee towards income. Your hard work is not a guarantee towards income. Here’s the deal: there’s no guarantee. Even if you choose the safer route of employment, layoffs happen, recession, contracts get broken, and industries shift. But when you choose social entrepreneurship, by definition, you are choosing risk. Yes, I have made some stupid money mistakes, mostly while I was pursuing my old dream career as a writer and trainer. It’s easy to be blinded by passion. When you decide to go for it, go with open eyes. And do it so that your dreams have better shot at actually coming true. “Impractical” dreams LOVE practical plans.