Hard to move on when you always regret one.

I put a lot of pressure on myself. I think something’s not good enough, and I won’t stop until I feel like I’ve made it. I’m never satisfied.

Mistakes are a part of life and cricket. We learn from them and move on.

To be bitter is to attribute intent and personality to the formless, infinite, unchanging and unchangeable void. We drift on a chartless, resistless sea. Let us sing when we can, and forget the rest.

I think the personal stories that I tell in my life, I think, sort of do add up to say that you can fail and fail and fail again and continue to move forward.

Wounds are like water set to boil—they heal best left unwatched.

It was strange, really. A couple months ago, I had thought I couldn’t live without him. Apparently I could.

Have a short memory and a lot of forgiveness. Especially us girls who don’t forget a thing. Move on.

I had a few mistakes, but I’m moving on. To be honest, it just motivates me even more.

With memory set smarting like a reopened wound, a man’s past is not simply a dead history, an outworn preparation of the present: it is not a repented error shaken loose from the life: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bitter flavors and the tinglings of a merited shame.

She was no longer wrestling with the grief, but could sit down with it as a lasting companion and make it a sharer in her thoughts.