Man Sorry Quotes & Sayings

My old man's a white old man
And my old mother's black.
If ever I cursed my white old man
I take my curses back.
If ever I cursed my black old mother
And wished she were in hell,
I'm sorry for that evil wish
And now i wish her well
My old man died in a fine big house
My Ma died in a shack.
I wonder were i'm going to die,
Being neither white nor black? — Langston Hughes

Can I have this?" Iris asked in her honeydew voice, holding up one of the novels I'd brought her so that Amy could see the cover.
"Sorry, hot man is all out at the moment. We have some corpulent taxi driver and a slice of crazy cat-lady left, but we ran out of hot man hours ago. — Nicole Peeler

We're done, this is over. I'm packing your shit and you're leaving." I'm sorry, I love you, please forgive me. "Everything is fucked up, don't you get that? It's ruined, all of it is ruined and you need to fucking leave." I'm so sorry, I love you, please forgive me. "You need to get a life." I'm sorry, I love you, please forgive me. "All those sad, pathetic letters." I'm lying, don't believe me, please don't believe me. I loved your letters, I kept them all and I cherish every one of them. "I prefer women with a little more experience." I don't mean it. I don't mean any of it. Knowing I'm the only man who has ever been inside of you makes me feel like a fucking king and the luckiest man alive. I'm sorry, I love you, please forgive me. "It doesn't get better when I come home to you. I hate this life." I'm lying! Every word is a lie. I love our life and I wouldn't change it for anything in the world. I love you, I love you, I love you. — Tara Sivec

Bang! Bang! Bang! Sorry Mr. Yipes, sir, she won't budge!'
Put your back into it, man, give it all you've got!'
Bang! Bang! Bang! — Patrick Carman

One night i rode home - it was a confession - and i came staggering across the yard and i fell into the rosebush and crawled up the stairs on my hands and knees and i was sick on the floor beside my bed. In the morning I tried to tell him I was sorry, and do you know what he said? 'Why, Tom, you were just jolly'. 'Jolly,' if I did it. A drunken man didn't crawl home. Just Jolly — John Steinbeck

I love it. Reminds me of you." "It reminds me of a man I don't like." I never want to hear it again. "I'm sorry." He nips at my neck, drawing his tongue up the length to my jawbone. "My arse is dead. — Jodi Ellen Malpas

I'm not bloody well going to have it, understand?" Vimes shouted, shaking the ape back and forth.
"Oook," the Librarian pointed out, patiently.
"What? Oh. Sorry." Vimes lowered the ape, who wisely didn't make an issue out of it because a man angry enough to lift 300 pounds of orangutan without noticing is a man with too much on his mind. — Terry Pratchett

And Jasmine, royal princess and daughter of the sultan..." the little old religious man trailed off, confused. "I'm sorry, daughter. I don't remember all of your names. Rose of Agrabah? Twice Great-Granddaughter of Elisheba the Wise?"
"I think it was Elisheba," Jasmine said thoughtfully. — Liz Braswell

Tally yanked her hand away and stuck it behind her back. "God. I am so sorry." She'd touched him. Felt the heat of his tanned skin, felt the crisp hairs at his groin ... felt ... oh, man.
"Nice try, but no cigar. Want to go for two out of three?"
Tally closed her eyes and blew out a breath. "Oh, this day just gets better and better."
"It's certainly looking up for me." With an amused glance, the pirate hitched his shorts back over the sharp angle of his hipbones. There'd been so sign of a tan line. — Cherry Adair

Correct me if I'm wrong here, but didn't we just get beat up for not being fags?"

"Sorry, you just don't scream hetero he-man, dude. I wouldn't call you flaming or anything, but let's just say your toes are singed. Hell, I read straighter than you do."

"I hate to break it to you, but I'm probably too drunk to fuck. — Elle Parker

Identify yourselves. You on the left, who are you?"
"My name is Gagaril," the man said.
"I'm sorry," Lightsong said.
The man flushed. "I was named after my father, Your Grace."
"After he what? Spent an unusual amount of time at the local tavern? — Brandon Sanderson

Charlie Rose is too much of a ladies' man for my liking. He thinks a lot of himself with his bluer-than-blue eyes and charming smile. I'm sure in his day he's enchanted more women than we have horses."
Nell gave the mare a quick hug and kissed her neck. "Sorry again, Georgia." With a lighthearted chuckle, she stepped through the gate.
And came face-to-face with Charlie. — Caroline Fyffe

The guide showed us a coffee-colored piece of sculpture which he said was considered to have come from the hand of Phidias, since it was not possible that any other artist, of any epoch, could have copied nature with such faultless accuracy. The figure was that of a man without a skin; with every vein, artery, muscle, every fibre and tendon and tissue of the human frame, represented in detail. It looked natural, because somehow it looked as if it were in pain. A skinned man would be likely to look that way, unless his attention were occupied with some other matter. It was a hideous thing, and yet there was a fascination about it some where. I am sorry I saw it, because I shall always see it, now. I shall dream of it, sometimes. I shall dream that it is resting its corded arms on the bed's head and looking down on me with its dead eyes; I shall dream that it is stretched between the sheets with me and touching me with its exposed muscles and its stringy cold legs. — Mark Twain

I shall never forget how I was roused one night by the groans of a fellow prisoner, who threw himself about in his sleep, obviously having a horrible nightmare. Since I had always been especially sorry for people who suffered from fearful dreams or deliria, I wanted to wake the poor man. Suddenly I drew back the hand which was ready to shake him, frightened at the thing I was about to do. At that moment I became intensely conscious of the fact that no dream, no matter how horrible, could be as bad as the reality of the camp which surrounded us, and to which I was about to recall him. — Viktor E. Frankl

I will never force you," he said. "I'll try never to hurt you, but no man can safely promise that. Any hurt I do to you, I will be desperately sorry for and try to repair. — Kaje Harper

When I am introduced as someone from New Orleans, people sometimes say: "I'm so sorry."
New Orleans. I'm so sorry.
That's not the way it was before,not the way it's supposed to be. When people find out you're from New Orleans, they're supposed to tell you about how they got drunk there once, or fell in love there, or first heard the music there that changed their lives.
At worst people would say: "I've always wanted to go there."
But now, it's just: "I'm sorry."
Man, that kills me. That just kills me. — Chris Rose

I glared at the man. "You know, Dr. Russell, most doctors would have found a more tactful way to break the news."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Perry," Dr. Russell said. "I don't want to seem unconcerned. But it's really not a problem. Even on Earth, testicular cancer is easily treatable, particularly in the early stages, which is the case here. At the very worst, you'd lose the testicle, but that's not a significant setback."
"Unless you happen to own the testicle," I growled. — John Scalzi

I can't believe you have a fear of spiders!" "Why? So do you! And it's a bloody tarantula! It's as big as my hand!!" "Yeah but you're a man." "Well, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you needed tarantula-wrangling skills on top of a massive cock and orgasms to go. Want me to go into the jungle and wrestle an alligator, too? — Karina Halle

Death strode away, stopped, and came back. He pointed a skeletal finger at The Duck Man.
WHY, he said, ARE YOU WALKING AROUND WITH THAT DUCK?
"What duck?"
AH. SORRY. — Terry Pratchett

PERCY ALREADY FELT LIKE THE lamest demigod in the history of lame. The purse was the final insult. They'd left R.O.F.L. in a hurry, so maybe Iris hadn't meant the bag as a criticism. She'd quickly stuffed it with vitamin-enriched pastries, dried fruit leather, macrobiotic beef jerky, and a few crystals for good luck. Then she'd shoved it at Percy: Here, you'll need this. Oh, that looks good. The purse - sorry, masculine accessory bag - was rainbow tie-dyed with a peace symbol stitched in wooden beads and the slogan Hug the Whole World. Percy wished it said Hug the Commode. He felt like the bag was a comment on his massive, incredible uselessness. As they sailed north, he put the man satchel as far away from him as he could, but the boat was small. — Rick Riordan

He's a beautiful man, but I'm sorry he doesn't agree with my political philosophy

Tip O'Neill on Ronald Reagan — Chris Matthews

Why would I go when everything I love is here?" "Who?" he said gruffly. "Hamlet with his charming manners? My poor unmanned brother upstairs? My mother-henning captain?" She smiled. "No." "Kendrick?" "Not even Kendrick." He was silent for a very long time. Then he looked away. "Whom do you love?" he asked, as if he couldn't have possibly cared less about the answer. "You, of course." He looked back at her then, but said nothing. "You're a wonderful man, Richard. I'm not sorry I had to travel over seven hundred years to find you. And I sincerely hope that betrothal contract was binding, because I have no intention of seeing it broken. — Lynn Kurland

I wouldn't even feel sorry for us if I was going against us. I know teams are licking their chops. The Bulls or Milwaukee, they're excited. Even though somebody is hurt they're still excited because they feel like we're a man down and we might not be as strong, but we're confident here. We got the players to still make something special happen. Guys just have to step up as a unit. — Tristan Thompson

(about William Blake)
As for Blake's happiness
a man who knew him said: "If asked whether I ever knew among the intellectual, a happy man, Blake would be the only one who would immediately occur to me."
And yet this creative power in Blake did not come from ambition ... He burned most of his own work. Because he said, "I should be sorry if I had any earthly fame, for whatever natural glory a man has is so much detracted from his spiritual glory. I wish to do nothing for profit. I wish to live for art. I want nothing whatever. I am quite happy."
... He did not mind death in the least. He said that to him it was just like going into another room. On the day of his death he composed songs to his Maker and sang them for his wife to hear. Just before he died his countenance became fair, his eyes brightened and he burst into singing of the things he saw in heaven. — Brenda Ueland

Some men are like dormant volcanoes, always ready to explode with anger. And also always ready to ejaculate everywhere with little warning. Plus they're often crusty. Metaphorically, I mean. You don't want a man who is literally crusty ejaculating on you. That would be a safety hazard and is probably how plague is spread. But my original point is that some seemingly quiet men anger easily. (Sorry. That metaphor got away from me a bit. I'd fix it but this is what editors are for.) — Jenny Lawson

Curran snarled and hurled the rock against the mountain. The boulder flew, hit like a cannon ball, and rolled back down. Curran chased it, pulled another smaller rock out of the dirt, and smashed it against the first one.
Wow. He was really pissed.
Astamur's eyes were as big as plates.
"I can get him to put those back after he's done," I told him.
"No," Astamur said slowly. "It's fine."
Curran picked up the smaller rock with both hands and threw it onto the larger boulder. The boulder cracked and fell apart. Oops.
"Sorry we broke your rock."
Atsany took the pipe out of his mouth and said something.
"Mrrrhhhm," Astamur said.
"What did he say?"
"He said that the man must be your husband, because only someone we love very much can make us this crazy. — Ilona Andrews

Poirot was an extraordinary looking little man. He was hardly more than five feet, four inches, but carried himself with great dignity. His head was exactly the shape of an egg, and he always perched it a little on one side. His moustache was very stiff and military. The neatness of his attire was almost incredible. I believe a speck of dust would have caused him more pain than a bullet wound. Yet this quaint dandyfied little man who, I was sorry to see, now limped badly, had been in his time one of the most celebrated members of the Belgian police. As a detective, his flair had been extraordinary, and he had achieved triumphs by unravelling some of the most baffling cases of the day. — Agatha Christie

Ethics based on this faultily quoted verse have changed nothing in post-Gandhi India, save the color of its administration. From a hungry man's point of view, though, it's all the same who makes him hungry. I submit that he may even prefer a white man to be responsible for his sorry state if only because this way social evil may appear to come from elsewhere and may perhaps be less efficient than the suffering at the hand of his own kind. With an alien in charge, there is still room for hope, for fantasy.
Similarly in post-Tolstoy Russia, ethics based on this misquoted verse undermined a great deal of the nation's resolve in confronting the police state. What has followed is known all too well: six decades of turning the other cheek transformed the face of the nation into one big bruise, so that the state today, weary of its violence, simply spits at that face. As well as at the face of the world. — Joseph Brodsky

But what she wanted to do was slip between cool sheets and fall asleep in a breeze from an open window. She wanted to sleep for days on end, and to wake up when the whole sorry business of the inquest and the missing boys had been resolved. She wanted sleep in order to put Mrs. Stone's testimony out of her head, and at the same time she wanted to bind all those words together into a club and hit every man in the room over the head with it. Because they hadn't really understood the story behind the story, and what Mrs. Stone was trying to tell them about Janine Campbell's life. Mrs. Stone had called herself plain-speaking and blunt, but she had wrapped every observation in the language of well-brought-up women, with the result that none of the men had any real sense of the anger and frustration that drove Janine Campbell. — Sara Donati

He was forty, which is the most frightening age in life. You don't feel sorry for the old, because they are old already; you don't feel sorry for the dead, because they are dead already. But you do feel sorry for those approaching old age, those approaching death. Forty! At fairgrounds you see roller coasters dashing up a steep slope followed by a steep drop and then another ascent. At the top of the slope, or rather just before the top, the vehicle has used up all the energy it acquired in the descent and it slows down and hesitates as if the top were unattainable, as it it were terrified of the approaching plunge. The man approaching forty is in a similar state of hesitation and uncertainty; his pace slackens, he is paralyzed by the approaching summit and the descent he cannot see but knows lies just ahead. — Pitigrilli

Sorry," a half-gestured apology as the man, ten years younger than George (who was thirty-seven), disappeared — Philip J. Gould

What are you doing here, Carrington? I didn't expect you today." "I came to see if Miss Sullivan would care to go for a drive," Carrington said, turning hopeful eyes toward Addie. Her cheeks grew pink. "I'm flattered, Mr. Carrington, but I'm sorry to say I must decline. Edward needs me, and I have other work I must attend to." Carrington huffed and turned to John. "You surely aren't going to work Miss Sullivan all the time, young man." "Of course not. She's welcome to take off any afternoon she pleases, and one whole day a week," John said, glancing at Addie. "Just please clear it with me, Miss Sullivan." "You're very generous," Addie said, standing. "Thank you for your offer, Lord Carrington, but I'm going to be much too busy for the next few weeks for a social life. I need to devote all my free time to Mrs. Eaton's wardrobe. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to tend to Edward. — Colleen Coble

People who are buried leave
Behind their memories.
People feel sad for them and
Worry, but for the living man,
They are never sorry.
This person, who is the sufferer,
Will never be able to withstand,
The chances snatched from him,
He thinks, "Am I under a ban?"
So he dies, and the world is
Forever in debt
For the man who faced
Death before his death. — Umera Ahmed

It is a Mormon truism that is current among us and we all accept it, that as man is God once was and as God is man may become. That does not signify that man will become God. I am sorry to say, and yet it is a truth, that not many men will become what God is, simply because they will not pay the price, because they are not willing to live up to the requirements; and still all men may, if they will, become what God is, but only those who are heirs of the celestial glory shall ever be possible candidates, to become what God is. — Melvin J. Ballard

He looked nearly inconspicuous, a handsome man in faded Levi's and tennis shoes. A Yankees baseball cap covered his dark hair, the bill shadowing his features. Casual. Beautiful. A day's growth of beard on his jaw did little to detract from his excruciating attractiveness.
"She's eight months old, but she knows how to flirt," the baby's mother said. "Let go of the nice man's shirt, Gabbi." She dislodged the child's hand, then told Adrian, "I'm sorry. She must like the colors on your T-shirt."
Eight-month-old Gabbi's big blue eyes were fixed on Adrian's face, not on his T-shirt. Billie released a shaky breath. Good God. Even babies weren't immune. — Shelby Reed

There's nothing worse than having someone moping around feeling sorry for themselves, is there?"
"A damned nuisance," he agreed lightly as he drew her into the private car. "How much did you take me for in there?"
It took her a minute to realize he'd changed the subject. "Oh,I don't know-five,six hundred."
"I'll put breakfast on your tab," he said as the doors opened to his and Serena's suite. Her laugh pleased him as much as the hug she gave him.
"Just like a man," Serena stated as she came into the room. "Waltzing in with a beautiful woman at the crack of dawn while the wife stays home and changes the baby." She held a gurgling Mac over her shoulder.
Justin grinned at her. "Nothing worse than a jealous woman. — Nora Roberts

Yes, dear Father. But has it ever occurred to you that by controlling [your feelings] you destroy them? How many times can we say sorry before we don't feel sorry anymore? — John Le Carre

Doesn't he look just like a ring wraith?" she said thoughtfully.
"Are you kidding?" replied Cathy, "I most certainly won't be carol singing at your door this Christmas if you've got one of those ugly things hanging on it!"
"No, from Lord of the Rings," said Sue impatiently.
"I'm sorry," snorted Cathy, "I don't watch pornographic material."
"Have you never read a book?!" Sue snapped. "It's about a small man who travels through dangerous lands to drop a ring into a volcano, it's a classic."
"Does sound like a small man," she replied, "can't even face his marriage problems full on. — Paul Baxter

Some fusty fellow, perhaps Samuel Johnson, had once said that every man was sorry if he hadn't been a soldier. She — Mary Jo Putney

Oh, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Slaying a villain in the service of your king is the stuff of legends and what heroes are made of." [Fanen told Myron]
"It didn't feel very heroic. It made me sick. I don't even know why I ... no, that's a lie. I really have to stop doing that." [Myron said]
"Doing what?"
"Lying. ( ... ) It's evidence of self loathing. You see, when you are so ashamed of your actions, thoughts, or intentions, you lie to hide it rather than accept yourself for who you really are. The idea of how others see you becomes more important than the reality of you.
"It's like when a man would rather die than be thought of a coward. His life is not as important to him as his reputation. In the end, who is the braver? The man who dies rather than be thought of as a coward or the man who lives willing to face who he really is?" [Myron finished]
"I'm sorry, you lost me there" Fanen said with a quizzical look. — Michael J. Sullivan

I don't like feeling sorry for myself. That's not who I am. And most of the time I don't feel that way. Instead, I am grateful for having at least found you. We could have flashed by one another like two pieces of cosmic dust.
God or the universe or whatever one chooses to label the great systems of balance and order does not recognize Earth-time. To the universe, four days is no different than four billion light years. I try to keep that in mind.
But, I am, after all, a man. And all the philosophic rationalizations I can conjure up do not keep me from wanting you, every day, every moment, the merciless wail of time, of time I can never spend with you, deep within my head.
I love you, profoundly and completely. And I always will.
The last cowboy,
Robert — Robert James Waller

She thought that heartbreak might just give his character the shadows and corners and angles it needed to make it truly interesting. To deepen and shape it. She was sorry she would be the one to help make him truly interesting. But she'd never apologize for falling in love with a man who already was. — Julie Anne Long

What I can't stand is that arrogance of yours," said Hatsumi in a soft voice. "Whether you sleep with other women or not is beside the point. I've never really been angry with you for sleeping around, have I?"
"You can't even call what I do sleeping around.It's just a game. Nobody gets hurt," said Nagasawa.
"I get hurt," said Hatsumi. "Why am I not enough for you?"
Nagasawa kept silent for a moment and swirled the whisky in his glass. "It's not that you're not enough for me. That's another phase, another question. It's just a hunger I have inside me. If I've hurt you, I'm sorry. But it's not a question of whether or not you're enough for me. I can only live with that hunger. That's the kind of man I am. That's what makes me me. There's nothing I can do about it, don't you see? — Haruki Murakami

It's the truth. I'm sorry to be blunt about it, but girls don't like guys who are doormats. Especially pretty girls, because there's no novelty in it. Guys are hitting on them all of the time. They can't walk down the street or order a coffee or stand on a corner without some idiot making a comment about how attractive they are. And the women smile because it's easier than telling them to go fuck themselves. And less dangerous, because if a man rejects a woman, she goes home and cries for a few days. If a woman rejects a man, he can rape and kill her. — Karin Slaughter

I'm so sorry, Austin. I know it hurts," Day whispered in his ear. "But trust me this once, if you never trust me for anything else. That man will be back." Michaels — A.E. Via

Maddie had seen commercials for Match Made Easy on TV. They seemed like a decent business and legit. She hoped. She prayed they weren't out of her price range. Not that it mattered - time was running out. She'd pay anything to prove to her family she wasn't cursed. Plus, Ryan would be there, most likely with that cheating blonde of his. She bet anything they'd both love to see her at her lowest point: jobless and dateless. Well, no one was going to feel sorry for her. Not her cousin and certainly not the best man, either. She'd show them all. And since she couldn't find a wedding date to her sister's wedding on her own, it looked as if she'd be forced to do the next best thing. Hire one. — Jennifer Shirk

But I feel very sorry for the poor children, all the same," said the man. The two children had also not been able to sleep for hunger, and had heard what their step-mother had said to their father. Grethel wept bitter tears, and said to Hansel, "Now all is over with us." "Be quiet, Grethel," said — Jacob Grimm

Brother - "
"I thought we'd already decided we weren't that, either."
Grabbing his shoulder, I stopped him before he could reach the door. "Look, I'm sorry! I'm sorry I did this to you."
He turned to look at me, his brow raised high. "You're sorry. So, what ... we go back to being cool again?"
"I don't know, man. But we can't do this."
"And why can't we? You couldn't stand to let me have one normal day with her. Have I done anything to you since she and I broke up?" He paused, but I didn't respond. "No. I haven't. You dealt with it by being an ass, so let me deal with this my way. And my way doesn't include acting like you didn't steal my girl from me."
"I didn't steal Harper!"
He opened the door and took a step outside, his shaking hand gripping the outer knob. When he looked back at me, his eyes were flat and lifeless. "You stole my entire world. — Molly McAdams

Your tits are bigger," Shiva said.
"SHIVA!" Hema and Ghosh said at the same time.
"Sorry," he said, surprised by their reaction. "I meant her breasts are bigger," he said.
"SHIVA! That isn't the sort of thing you say to a woman," Hema said.
"I can't say it to a man," Shiva said, looking impatient. — Abraham Verghese

But, stop and think. What does the word 'witch' truly mean?" "Why - " said Tom, and was stymied. "Wits," said Moundshroud. "Intelligence. That's all it means. Knowledge. So any man, or woman, with half a brain and with inclinations toward learning had his wits about him, eh? And so, anyone too smart, who didn't watch out, was called - " "A witch!" said everyone. "And some of the smart ones, the ones with wits, pretended at magic, or dreamed themselves with ghosts and dead shufflers and ambling mummies. And if enemies dropped dead by coincidence, they took credit for it. They liked to believe they had power, but they had none, boys, none, sad and sorry, 'tis true. But — Ray Bradbury

I kept reading.
I miss you already, bro.
I love you, Augustus. God bless and keep you.
You'll live forever in our hearts, big man.
(That particularly galled me, because it implied the immortality of those left behind:
You will live forever in my memory, becauuse I will live forever! I AM YOUR GOD NOW, DEAD BOY! I OWN YOU! Thinking you won't die is yet another side effect of dying.)
You were always such a great friend I'm sorry I didn't see more of you after you left school, bro. I bet you're already playing ball in heaven. — John Green

When I was a med student, the first patient I met with this sort of problem was a sixty-two-year-old man with a brain tumor. We strolled into his room on morning rounds, and the resident asked him, "Mr. Michaels, how are you feeling today?" "Four six one eight nineteen!" he replied, somewhat affably. The tumor had interrupted his speech circuitry, so he could speak only in streams of numbers, but he still had prosody, he could still emote: smile, scowl, sigh. He recited another series of numbers, this time with urgency. There was something he wanted to tell us, but the digits could communicate nothing other than his fear and fury. The team prepared to leave the room; for some reason, I lingered. "Fourteen one two eight," he pleaded with me, holding my hand. "Fourteen one two eight." "I'm sorry." "Fourteen one two eight," he said mournfully, staring into my eyes. And then I left to catch up to the team. He died a few months later, buried with whatever message he had for the world. — Paul Kalanithi

I am a cheerful man, even in the dark, and it's all thanks to a good Lutheran mother ... Mother was well composed, a true Lutheran, and taught me to Cheer up, Make yourself useful, Mind your manners, and above all, Don't feel sorry for yourself. — Garrison Keillor

'We're doing it because he's trying to look like a respectable member of the family and not the fucking mafia,' Dex snapped. He grimaced at Ethan. 'Sorry, man, but seriously
this is some fuckin' suit.'
Ethan looked at himself and his spiffy shiny cuffs and sighed. 'I was going for grown-up,' he confessed.
Kane was the one who said it. 'Well, what you got was connected, but that's okay, right? Because, you know, better a hired killer than a porn star.' — Amy Lane

CREEP
Other people have written about war. About how one plane sweeps over and the whole place is ablaze in minutes. About how a young man may kill another young many with perfect legality. I prefer to write about less sudden things. About how we inch further away without even noticing. And then it's too late. Or is it? No it's not too late to say sorry, we were wrong, let's try again to get along. No, it's not too late to quit lying, halt the greed, stop polluting air earth and seas. I prefer to write about less noisy things. About change happening so gradually that one day you just accept the world as different. And you don't question because you're old, and you don't feel like making waves, and anyway, they'd say you were insane ... — Jay Woodman

IN AN OLD YUGOSLAV JOKE mocking police corruption, a policeman returns home unexpectedly and finds his wife naked in their marital bed, obviously hot and excited. Suspecting that he surprised her with a lover, he starts to look around the room for a hidden man. The wife goes pale when he leans down to look under the bed; but after some brief whispering, the husband rises with a satisfied, smug smile and says "Sorry, my love, false alarm. There is no one under the bed!," while his hand is holding tightly a couple of high denomination banknotes. — Slavoj Zizek

(an excellent man, with whom I am sorry now that I did not converse more often, for, even if he cared nothing for the arts, he knew a great many etymologies) — Marcel Proust

Said Jack matter-of-factly. "I'm a man. We're made to think more quickly."
... Aven swung her fist and clocked Jack square on the chin, knocking him backward into the balloon, which was still under repair.
... Aven rubbed her knuckles and looked at the others. "Sorry about that. I might have stopped myself from hitting him, but I didn't think of it quickly enough. — James A. Owen

The name on her shop certainly wasn't going to be Mrs. Betts, because Russell was a jerk. Definitely not superhero material. Hell, he wasn't even qualified to be a sidekick. She should have known. A man without a sweet tooth was not to be trusted. She snorted softly. He'd be so sorry he'd cheated on her when she ruled the confectionary world. Right now, however, she was a server and part-time pastry chef at Rastinelli's Trattoria. Actually, she'd filled in for the pastry chef only once, but it was a start. — Kristen Painter

I'm sorry, Shepley," I called after him.
He froze and wheeled around, with the face of a man that had reached his limit. "I wish you and Travis would just get your shit together! You're a goddamn tornado! When you're happy, it's love and peace and butterflies. When you're pissed, you take the whole fucking world down with you! — Jamie McGuire

I want him."
"I'm sorry?" I peer at her, flicking my mobile open out of habit.
"The man I just met. I felt it, right here. The sizzle." She presses her concave stomach. "I want to dance with him. — Sophie Kinsella

Sorry," he said, his voice thick and gruff. "It's morning and you're sitting on me. That's a combination meant to bring any man down. — J. Lynn

Brittles stood at attention until Jack looked at him, then he bowed slightly. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but an Inspector Swindler from Scotland Yard wishes to speak with you. Are you home?"
"Of course, I'm home, man. I'm sitting right here. — Lorraine Heath

Must I carry this?" he asked, indicating his empty coffee cup.

"No, you can just throw it away."

Bad choice of words. Ax threw the coffee cup. He threw it hard. It hit one of the cashiers in the head.

"Hey!"

Sorry, it was an accident, man," I yelped.

-Animorphs #5, The Predator page 20 — K.A. Applegate

I was sorry for her, as I am for any who are evicted from their haunts by the younger and stronger - always a sad occasion for man or beast. — E.B. White

I'm sorry I cannot say I love you when you say
you love me. The words, like moist fingers,
appear before me full of promise but then run away
to a narrow black room that is always dark,
where they are silent, elegant, like antique gold,
devouring the thing I feel. I want the force
of attraction to crush the force of repulsion
and my inner and outer worlds to pierce
one another, like a horse whipped by a man.
I don't want words to sever me from reality.
I don't want to need them. I want nothing
to reveal feeling but feeling - as in freedom,
or the knowledge of peace in a realm beyond,
or the sound of water poured into a bowl. — Henri Cole

I just dress like ... I'm an old black man. Sorry! Like I'm an old Jewish black man. I just dress like it's still the '50s. — Amy Winehouse

I love you, Cole. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you were second best or that I didn't love you or that God forbid, you were a substitute for Lucas and that any man could give me what I want and need. — Maya Banks

Feeling sorry for yourself is a universal solvent of salvation. — Paul Hoffman

F me," I say loudly and everyone looks at me.
"Can I help you?" the tour guide asks in an icy tone.
I shake my head, noticing Callie is staring at me. "Sorry man, I thought a bee landed on me. — Jessica Sorensen

Don't call it sexism. Call it "manners" instead. When a woman blinks a little, shakes her head like Columbo, and says, "I'm sorry, but that sounded a little . . . uncivil," a man is apt to apologize. Because even the most rampant bigot on earth has no defense against a charge of simply being rude. — Caitlin Moran

Sorry, just ignore the man behind the curtain. Great, a subconscious with a sense of humor. — Sonya Bria

I'm sorry. I'm a little on edge."
"No need to remind me," Mg. Aviosky quipped just as a real person emerged from that second right, some sort of ledger in his hands.
"There are guests at the door," the man said, closing the ledger. The ensuing burst of air rustled his wavy black hair. In words pitched at a light baritone, he added, "And I would have thought the knock gave it away. — Charlie N. Holmberg

I still think Connie was a human man, a very, very good one - but a man. I have been wrong in my judgments many times before; if now I am ignorant and blind, I'm sorry, but it's no new thing. If that should be the case though, it means that I have had great privileges in my life, perhaps more so than any man alive today. Because it means that on the fields and farms of England, on the airstrips of the desert and the jungle, in the hangars of the Persian Gulf and on the tarmacs of the southern islands, I have walked and talked with God. — Nevil Shute

I sort of feel sorry for the next man who gets me. I may just kill him with passion. He'd better be strong and have a good heart! — Kirstie Alley

Sorry, baby. Let's get out of here, he says, speaking with the intense, strained tones of a man with an erection. — Neal Stephenson

Cheech and Chong Vs. HAL
"I can't do that Dave."
"Dave's not here, man"
"That does not compute. Dave"
"No man, Dave isn't here!!"
... "I'm sorry Dave but that is incorrect"
"No man, Dave's not here!!"
"Daisy, daisy, ... I'm self terminating now Dave ... "
"No man, dave's not ... Is he gone? — Neil Leckman

I look at Obama, a young man, a good-looking person. That is my first impression, I feel sorry for him. He looks 100 percent like Lukashenko, when I came to power after the breakup of the Soviet Union — Alexander Lukashenko

As I opened the door, Abel turned toward the shower and zipped up his pants. "Jesus! Shit! I'm so sorry." I yanked the door to close it, but he grabbed hold and pulled it wide open.
"Wow. Was it that disappointing?" He laughed, and my face burned with embarrassment.
"I didn't see anything." I was mortified.
"You really know how to hurt a man's ego. — Teresa Mummert

A man in love is a sorry spectacle. — Agatha Christie

That's ridiculous." So ridiculous. "He's an adult. All adults know how to apologize."
"I beg to disagree, Your Highness. Only half of the adults know how to apologize. The other half are
men, and speaking for my gender, I assure you a man will move heaven and earth rather than say, I'm
sorry . — Christina Dodd

Do or die, you'll never make me
Because the world will never take my heart
Go and try, you'll never break me
We want it all, we wanna play this part
I won't explain or say I'm sorry
I'm unashamed, I'm gonna show my scar
Give a cheer for all the broken
Listen here, because it's who we are
I'm just a man, I'm not a hero
Just a boy, who had to sing this song
I'm just a man, I'm not a hero
I! don't! care!
We'll carry on
We'll carry on
And though you're dead and gone believe me
Your memory will carry on
We'll carry on
And though you're broken and defeated
Your weary widow marches on — Gerard Way

I feel sorry for the man who marries you ... because everyone thinks you're sweet and you're not. — Harold Brodkey

Abraham was a man who lived in oneness with God. If I live in oneness with a certain brother day after day, there will be no need for him to tell me of many things. I will already know what he likes and what he does not like, what pleases him and what offends him. If I love him and live in oneness with him, whatever I say and do will be in accordance with his likes or dislikes. I am sorry to say that many Christians [791] do not live in oneness with God. When important matters arise, they kneel down and pray, "O Lord, what is Your will?" Eventually, they do not follow God's will but their own concept. We do not know God's will by praying in such a way. If we would know God's will, we must live in oneness with Him. If we live in oneness with Him, He will not need to tell us what He desires, because we shall already know it by being one with Him. — Witness Lee

On moonlight nights the long, straight street and dirty white walls, nowhere darkened by the shadow of a tree, their peace untroubled by footsteps or a dog's bark, glimmered in the pale recession. The silent city was no more than an assemblage of huge, inert cubes, between which only the mute effigies of great men, carapaced in bronze, with their blank stone or metal faces, conjured up a sorry semblance of what the man had been. In lifeless squares and avenues these tawdry idols lorded it under the lowering sky; stolid monsters that might have personified the rule of immobility imposed on us, or, anyhow, its final aspect, that of a defunct city in which plague, stone, and darkness had effectively silenced every voice. — Albert Camus

I'm sorry I couldn't carry the ball over the finish line, but, man, I did try. — Ann Curry

In the first book of the Bible it is written that: "The Lord regretted that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him to his heart."
In another translation it is written like this: "God was sorry that he had made the human race in the first place; it broke his heart."
"It grieved him to his heart."
"It broke his heart."
We grieved him to his heart.
We broke his heart.
God's heart can be ... broken?
You cannot love without being vulnerable - because love involves the risk of the person you're loving not loving you back, of rejecting you - and that hurts.
That grieves you to your heart.
God had created man, and He loved them - but they didn't love Him back, and it broke His heart. — Cole Ryan

I couldn't think of anyone I'd ever felt sorry for. There were plenty of kids I was envious of. There were others I achingly admired, but that might simply be another form of jealousy. Then there were those I feared, dreaded. And the worst of them, the man who shamed me. I could see my father's angry features looming over my mother. I could clearly picture her beside him in his truck, cowering against the door while he belittled and assaulted her.
I guess I did know someone I felt sorry for. — Richelle E. Goodrich

I hold the door to the post office open for a weathered man in a wheelchair. He is gracious, thanking me. One leg is missing, and just as I notice this, I see the sticker on the back of his chair: VIETNAM VETS.

My thoughts jumble as an ache brews in my heart. I think of war and how it destroys, divides, and damages. I see the faces of those in the refugee camp and those who found their names on The List and are now in America. I want to tell this wounded soldier that I am sorry for his loss and for the abandonment he may have felt upon his return. I want to say other things, but right now I'm just honored to hold the door for him. — Alice J. Wisler

Then the LORD saw that the wickedness of man was great on the earth, and that every intent of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually. 6The LORD was sorry that He had made man on the earth, and He was grieved in His heart. The LORD said, I will blot out man whom I have created from the face of the land, from man to animals to creeping things and to birds of the sky; for I am sorry that I have made them. — Anonymous

A friend told me of visiting the Dalai Lama in India and asking him for a succinct definition of compassion. She prefaced her question by describing how heart-stricken she'd felt when, earlier that day, she'd seen a man in the street beating a mangy stray dog with a stick. "Compassion," the Dalai Lama told her, "is when you feel as sorry for the man as you do for the dog." — Marc Ian Barasch

When I see a man of shallow understanding extravagantly clothed, I feel sorry - for the clothes. — Josh Billings

I am sorry to say we whites have a sad reputation among many of the Polynesians. The natives of these islands are naturally of a kindly and hospitable temper, but there has been implanted among them an almost instinctive hate of the white man. They esteem us, with rare exceptions, such as some of the missionaries, the most barbarous, treacherous, irreligious, and devilish creatures on the earth. — Herman Melville

I feel sorry for the man who has never known the bracing thrill of taking a stand and sticking to it fearlessly. Moral courage has rewards that timidity can never imagine. Like a shot of adrenaline, it floods the spirit with vitality — Billy Graham

Is he good? Or is he bad? That's the only thing I ask nowadays. And as I grow older - I'd swear this on the last crust I eat - I feel I shan't even go on asking that! Whether a man's good or bad, I'm sorry for him, for all of 'em. The sight of a man just rends my insides, even if I act as though I don't care a damn! There he is, poor devil, I think, he also eats and drinks and makes love and is frightened, whoever he is: he has his God and his devil just the same, and he'll peg out and lie as stiff as a board beneath the ground and be food for worms, just the same. Poor devil! We're all brothers! All worm-meat! — Nikos Kazantzakis

Satirical writers and speakers are not half so clever as they think themselves, nor as they are thought to be. They do winnow the corn, it is true, but it is to feed upon the chaff. I am sorry to add that they who are always speaking ill of others are also very apt to be doing ill to them. It requires some talent and some generosity to find out talent and generosity in others, though nothing but self-conceit and malice are needed to discover or to imagine faults. It is much easier for an ill-natured man than for a good-natured man to be smart and witty. — James Sharp

I threw it away feeling sorry to have vainly destroyed a flower that looked beautiful in its proper place. How many different plant lives man destroys to support his own existence. — Leo Tolstoy

Even though you may not want to hear it, I want you to know that you'll always be a part of me. In our time together, you claimed a special place in my heart, one I'll carry with me forever and that no one can ever replace. You're a hero and a gentleman, you're kind and honest, but more than that, you're the first man I ever truly loved. And no matter what the future brings, you always will be, and I know that my life is better for it. I'm so sorry - Savannah — Nicholas Sparks

Confused, she pressed a fist to her mouth to stifle her sobs as her tears came harder.
The door opened and Lucas stood there, bare-chested, a pair of jeans riding low on his lean hips. "Nora? Ah, hell. I hurt you, didn't I?"
He moved into the room and pulled her into his arms, hugging her to his chest. She wanted to fight it, avoid her feelings, but she melted into him, absorbing his warm strength.
"I'm sorry, baby," he murmured.
She shook her head. "you didn't hurt me."
Some of the tension left his muscles. "Well, not to worry, you only hurt me a little, but I'm taking it like a man. — Jennifer Lowery

Scotty, what's wrong?" For a moment, Scott ignored the sleepy, querulous voice of the man occupying the other half of his bed. Then he turned back from the window to look at the guy whose name he couldn't remember for the life of him and said, "Nothing, just a nightmare. Sorry. Go back to sleep." "Maybe I don't want to sleep now," the man pouted. Scott shrugged. "Then get dressed and go home. Makes me no nevermind." "Well, I never," the man huffed. "I guess I might as well. Looks like nothing more's going to be happening here." With a shrug, Scott grabbed his robe then put it on as he strode out of the bedroom. When he was downstairs in the kitchen, he started a pot of coffee, sighing — Edward Kendrick