guilt

Guilt is intense. Suffocating. A brick, tied quietly around your ankles while you sleep. You never fall slowly into guilt-you wake up with little time to take your last breath before being pulled under.

Guilt was a fascinating thing: it seemed not to weaken over time. If anything it grew stronger as the circumstances faded from memory, as the fear and the necessity became abstract. And only her own actions stood out with crystal clarity.

Let go of self-condemnation and guilt!

Out, damned spot! out, I say!

For the hundredth time, he examined his face in the bathroom mirror, patiently touched every scratch with the styptic pencil, and repowdered them. He ministered to his face and hands objectively, as if they were not a part of himself. When his eyes met the staring eyes in the mirror, they slipped away as they must have slipped away, Guy thought, that first afternoon on the train, when he had tried to avoid Bruno__ eyes.

The exoneration of the mass. No one voice is to blame. But his voice was there.

Damn, she was getting so tangled up by guilt and desire. ~Nikki in Texas Tangle

My stomach hurts, but if it's guilt or impacted stool, I can't tell. Either way, I'm so full of shit.

I have a very hard time getting to rage. I always assume that maybe I've done something wrong and then forgotten about it.

Experience had taught me that innocence seldom utters outraged shrikes. Guilt does. Innocence is a mighty shield, and the man or woman covered by it, is much more likely to answer calmly: 'My life is blameless. Look into it, if you like, for you will find nothing.' That is the tone of innocence.

And that for every negative event or coincidence that has happened since, imagining that you triggered them, that you made them happen makes you feel like you possess a degree of control that you don't have.

You know this is wrong."It isn't a question. When he turns, White is still wrapped snug in the counterpane, motionless, just his gaze pursuing the doctor about the room. "I am wrong to do this." The doctor says it as if instructing himself. White says nothing. With a sigh, Archer sits on the edge of the bed, smoothing White's curls back from his forehead. "Do you know what we did last night?" To admit it, to speak out loud, seems in itself a terrible affront. It might be his imagination, but the doctor fancies he sees a slight lowering of black lashes, the tiniest quirk of a shy smile. He says, wearily but not without affection, "No, I don't suppose you do.

If there was one thing Sam understood, it was guilt. It didn't have to be logical; oftentimes it wasn't. Itsawed at your gut relentlessly, tediously, until you wore it like a scar.

God never estimates what we give from impulse. We are given credit for what we determine in our hearts to give; for the giving that is governed by a fixed determination. The Spirit of God revolutionises our philanthropic instincts. Much of our philanthropy is simply the impulse to save ourselves an uncomfortable feeling. The Spirit of God alters all that. As saints our attitude towards giving is that we give for Jesus Christ__ sake, and from no other motive.

In the end, I sold my soul." he had said, and Abby had replied "That wasn__ the end.

Repeat the same action over and over again, and eventually it will feel right. Eventually, there isn't even any guilt.

Their guilt plus their repentance should have equalled forgiveness. But they don__ feel forgiven, so they failed, which makes them feel guilty, which was why they repented in the first place, so they__e stuck right where they started: Guilty.

....you can overcome sadness, loneliness, even terrible loss. But guilt goes with you the grave.