The hunter for aphorisms on human nature has to fish in muddy water, and he is even condemned to find much of his own mind.
F. H. BradleyRead
True penitence condemns to silence. What a man is ready to recall he would be willing to repeat.
Interpretation
True regret leads to a quiet reflection, as one only truly regrets things they would not want to repeat.
The quote by F. H. Bradley suggests that genuine penitence is accompanied by silence and introspection, indicating that if a person is willing to discuss their past actions, they may not have fully understood the depth of their remorse. It emphasizes that true regret comes from an internal realization and acceptance of one's mistakes, making one reluctant to vocalize those experiences as they signify a desire not to repeat them.
In practice
In a philosophical discussion about the nature of regret.
The hunter for aphorisms on human nature has to fish in muddy water, and he is even condemned to find much of his own mind.
Where everything is bad it must be good to know the worst.
The secret of happiness is to admire without desiring. And that is not happiness.
Our live experiences, fixed in aphorisms, stiffen into cold epigrams. Our heart's blood, as we write it, turns to mere dull ink.
Metaphysics is the finding of bad reasons for what we believe on instinct.
One said of suicide, As long as one has brains one should not blow them out. And another answered, But when one has ceased to have them, too often one cannot.
I often thought my gravestone would say, 'Here lies Gandalf. He came out,'
For many years, I have lived uncomfortably with the belief that most planning and architectural design suffers for lack of real and basic purpose. The ultimate purpose, it seems to me, must be the improvement of mankind.
I almost do not exist now and I know it; God knows what lives in me in place of me.
The great question of life is not the question of death but the question of life. Fear of death shames us all.
Wherever capitalism appears, in pursuit of its mission of exploitation, there will Socialism, fertilized by misery, watered by tears, and vitalized by agitation be also found, unfurling its class-struggle banner and proclaiming its mission of emancipation.
We had been everywhere. We had really seen nothing. And I catch myself thinking today that our long journey had only defiled with a sinuous trail of slime the lovely, trustful, dreamy, enormous country that by then, in retrospect, was no more to us than a collection of dog-eared maps, ruined tour books, old tires, and her sobs in the night β every night, every night β the moment I feigned sleep.
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