Better ten days of love than years of regretting.

 

Better ten days of love than years of regretting.
--
Min Farshaw

 

Robert Jordan

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I praise Thee while my days go on;
I love Thee while my days go on:
Through dark and dearth, through fire and frost,
With emptied arms and treasure lost,
I thank Thee while my days go on.

 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 

I don't go around regretting things that don't happen.

 

Virgil Thomson

 

Then say–how come the years to seem so swift,
The days, the days so slow?

 

Jan Struther

 

The other day, there was a man outside, beckoning to what I though was Has Wounds. ... He came back with an older man ... he was crying and sobbing, and — he's Has Wounds' owner! ... I told him about what I had done ... He said that he's been praying for her all of this time too. He'd been crying, he'd been singing — and he thought he was alone in alll this. The nights when I'd wondered ... where she was, corresponded with days where he'd wondered where she'd gone. ... And this man had cared for her for 16 years! ... I said how I had named her, and he said that in 16 years he had never come up with a name for her, because nothing seemed to suit her, and he was amazed to reveal that that was very much her, and he's going to call her that from now on! He begged to repay me somehow ... I said listen, the best thing you can do is what you have already done — love her, take care of her, be her owner! ...

 

Ysabella Brave

 

"It's just the same story as a doctor once told me," observed the elder. "He was a man getting on in years, and undoubtedly clever. He spoke as frankly as you, though in jest, in bitter jest. 'I love humanity,' he said, 'but I wonder at myself. The more I love humanity in general, the less I love man in particular. In my dreams,' he said, 'I have often come to making enthusiastic schemes for the service of humanity, and perhaps I might actually have faced crucifixion if it had been suddenly necessary; and yet I am incapable of living in the same room with any one for two days together, as I know by experience. As soon as any one is near me, his personality disturbs my self-complacency and restricts my freedom. In twenty-four hours I begin to hate the best of men: one because he's too long over his dinner; another because he has a cold and keeps on blowing his nose. I become hostile to people the moment they come close to me. But it has always happened that the more I detest men individually the more ardent becomes my love for humanity.'"

 

Fyodor Dostoevsky