Getting An Apology You Never Received Quotes

When she stroked her fingertips around the side of it, she received a shock that made her squeak and nearly stumble backward into the fireplace. The chair was occupied.
"Do be careful, Abigail," chided the person sitting cross-legged and contemplative in the wooden seat. "It'd be such a nuisance to have to haul you from the flames and put you out." Silyen Jardine was watching her mildly.
"You nearly gave me a heart attack," she snapped, startled. "What are you doing sitting there - trying it for size?" And if there was a guide titled How Slaves Should Never Address Their Masters, then yes, a sentence like that would be written on page one. Abi began to blurt an apology, but the Young Master waved it away. ~ Vic James

Warner scratches the back of his head. "Do you never get exhausted being so wholly unbearable? You have as much charisma as the rotting innards of unidentified roadkill."
I hear an abrupt wheezing noise and turn toward the sound.
Kenji has a hand pressed to his mouth, desperately trying to suppress a smile. He's shaking his head, holding up a hand in apology. And then he breaks, laughing out loud, snorting as he tries to muffle the sound. "I'm sorry," he says, pressing his lips together, shaking his head again. "This is not a funny moment. It's not. I'm not laughing."
Adam looks like he might punch Kenji in the face. ~ Tahereh Mafi

What you do with strangers is ignore them for. No second chance, no sorry I did it, never accept an apology, but never, ever get angry with strangers. ~ James Clavell

Direct questions are the worst. Cops must know this--when someone asks you a question, it is really, really hard not to answer it. It's even harder when people dig up old tweets and put them side by side with new ones and you can't really explain the discrepancy. And then other people see the discrepancy and they start liking and retweeting and rephrasing. And they also see your silence, and your silence looks like an answer. It's an extremely effective interrogation tactic, and most people make either a tearful apology or an enraged counterattack.
This is why Twitter callouts tend to end so badly. Apology is never enough (and probably shouldn't be), so you're basically being asked to willingly give up power for no clear end. The best people actually do that. But the real shitfucks go on the offense, and then their communities get an infusion of victimhood narratives straight into their veins. ~ Hank Green

Horace felt an overwhelming need to sneeze. He tried to smother the
sound, but only succeeded in making it louder.
Will looked up angrily, shaking his head in disbelief. "Will you shut up?" he said tautly.
Horace shrugged in apology. "I'm sorry," he said. "I sneezed. A person can't help it
when they sneeze."
"Perhaps not. But you could try to make it sound a little less like an elephant
trumpeting in agony," Will told him.
Horace wasn't prepared to take that lying down. Crouching down, perhaps. But lying
down, never.
"And of course, you'd know what an elephant sounds like! Have you ever heard an
elephant?" he challenged.
But Will was unabashed by his logic."No," he said."But I'm sure it couldn't be any louder
than that sneeze. ~ John Flanagan

But an apology too - you think you're giving something, but you're not. You're really asking for something. You're asking for forgiveness, you're asking for the other injured person to make it okay for you. Apologies were harder work for the person getting one than the person giving one. ~ Deb Caletti

He also said that I would never get an apology out of you." There was a long pause. "I want one. Now."
Xcor put aside his soup and found himself searching the wounds he had given himself, recalling all that pain, all that blood - which had dried brown on the floorboards beneath him.
"And then what," he said in a rough voice.
"You'll have to find out."
Fair enough, Xcor thought.
Without grace - not that he had any, anyway - he rose to his feet. At his full height, he was unsteady for too many reasons to count, and the off-balance feeling got even worse as he met the eyes of his ... friend.
Looking Throe in the face, he stepped up and put out his palm. "I am sorry."
Three simple words spoken loud and clear. And they didn't go nearly far enough.
"I was wrong to treat you as I did. I am ... not as much of the Bloodletter as I thought - as I have e'er wanted to be. ~ J.R. Ward

Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, "I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for one's self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry." "You know," I answered with some emotion, for I had never seen so much of Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you. ~ Martin Edwards

It means what it says," he managed, staring at her again. "There's not a lot of subtlety in this particular strip."
She took the paper back from him and stuck it in her pocket. It was something she intended to keep forever. "You've used me rather lavishly in your work recently." She had to tilt back her head in order to keep her eyes level with his. Grant thought she looked more regal than ever. If she turned her thumb down, she could throw him to the lions. "Didn't it occur to you to ask permission first?"
"Artist's privilage." He felt the light spray hit his back, saw it dampen her hair. "Where the hell did you go?" he heard himself demand. "Where the hell have you been?"
Her eyes narrowed. "That's my business, isn't it?"
"Oh,no." He grabbed her arms and shook. "Oh,no,it's not.You're not going to walk out on me."
Gennie set her teeth and waited until he'd stopped shaking her. "If memory serves,you did the walking figuratively before I did it literally."
"All right! I acted like an idiot. You want an apology?" he shouted at her. "I'll give you any kind you want. I'll-" He broke off, his breath heaving. "Oh,God,first."
And his mouth crushed down on hers, his fingers digging into her shoulders. The groan that was wrenched from him was only one more sign of a desperate need. She was here,she was his.He'd never let her go again. ~ Nora Roberts

Sometimes you withhold an apology for having wronged someone, in a state where you were not yourself. Because some states of life can never be understood by those who have not experienced them. ~ Wordions

Back To December is a song that addresses a first for me. In that I've never apologized in a song before. Whether it be good or bad or an apology. The person I wrote this song about deserves this. This is about a person who was incredible to me- just perfect in a relationship- and I was very careless with him. So, this is a song full of words that I would say to him that he deserves to hear.


I've never felt the need to apologize in a song before, but in the last two years I've experienced a lot, a lot of different kinds of learning lessons And sometimes you learn a lesson too late and at that point you need to apologize because you were careless. ['Back To December'] is about a person who was incredible to me, just perfect to me in a relationship, and I was really careless with him

I've written songs about things like burning my ex boyfriends pictures… I've written songs about the times that I've been hurt by love. But then one day I woke up and realized that I had hurt somebody… And so I wrote this song to tell him I'm sorry ~ Taylor Swift

Your ribcage never meant to hurt you.
Your windpipe doesn't know how to be pretty,
but she knows how to howl -
and here, I'd like to take a moment
to submit a formal apology to my soft parts
because they kept me warm
when I was trying to freeze to death,
and I hated them for it. An apology
for a starvation that went deeper than my skin.
One for the strongest skeleton I will ever own
and how I kept using the word girl against it.
Or how I turned words like beautiful into shapes
I could contort myself into. I didn't mean
to compare myself to faces I can't have.
Or spend years trying to carve myself,
like Michelangelo's angels, from the marble -
forgetting what it is to be skin instead of stone.
I let myself be afraid. I was taught to be.
When you learn you are only as good
as your beauty routine, you forget
how to define yourself by anything else. ~ Ashe Vernon

The pain of an injury is over in seconds. Everything that comes after is the pain of getting well." He gave her a heartfelt look, full of apology. "I'd forgotten that you see. Coming back to life ... It hurts. ~ Tessa Dare

You are my friend, Prairie Flower. If I tell you what is in my heart, will you promise never to tell?"
Prairie Flower laid a hand on Jesse's shoulder, pulling it away quickly when her friend flinched in pain. "I will not betray my friend."
Taking a deep breath, Jesse lifted her head. "When Rides the Wing comes near to me, my heart sings.But I do not believe that he cares for me.I am clumsy in all of the things a Lakota woman must know.I cannot speak his language without many childish mistakes. And..." Jesse reached up to lay her hand on her short hair, "I am nothing to look at.I am not..."
Prairie Flower grew angry. "I have told you he cares for you.Can you not see it?"
Jesse shook her head.
Prairie Flower spoke the unspeakable. "Then,if you cannot see that he cares for you in what he does,you must see it in what he has not done. You have been in his tepee. Dancing Waters has been gone many moons."
"Stop!" Jesse demanded. "Stop it! I..just don't say any more!" She leaped up and ran out of the tepee-and into Rides the Wind, who was returning from the river where he had gone to draw water.
Jesse knocked the water skins from both of his hands. Water spilled out and she fumbled an apology then bent stiffly to pick up the skins, wincing with the effort.
"I will do it, Walks the Fire." His voice was tender as he bent and took the skins from her.
Jesse protested, "It is the wife's job." She blushed, realizing that she had used a wrong wor ~ Stephanie Grace Whitson

Rigor Mortis." I say, almost as an apology. But he won't have any of it. He locks onto my gaze. He doesn't lean forward, but he doesn't need to, suddenly the room feels like it's filled with him. His presence floats in the air like a noxious gas, and I'm breathing it in.
"Ike, you don't get it. That's why I wanted to talk to you. Do you think I have the right to talk to anyone? Do you think its fun to have a 'human' brain in a pet's body? Sure, I have Kamu. And that's fugging great, but guess what? Kamu is queen to be, and emotionally unstable." I've never heard Rig talk this powerfully before, but he doesn't seem scary, just sad. "And then I get someone else I can actually talk to, Ike, I get you. And you don't treat me like I'm a pet and you talk about Kamu like she needs to be protected and you are there. You are there, and you keep being there, and the only one who's ever there is Kamu, but now there is Ike. And Ike is perfect, albeit a bit dense, but perfect."
"Rig, I'm really sorry bu-" I start, I don't know how much more of this I can take. With each sentence Rig loses some of his force, he sounds more pathetic and lost.
"I'm not done." He pronounces the words in such a voice that it makes me shut up more than the context of the sentence does. "And all I want is to be with this boy who is there, this boy who is my friend, this boy who isn't always caught up in politics. All I want is to have my one good break." He finishes. I keep holding his eye cont ~ Ginny Albinson

Straining to hear, I can make out something acoustic. Coming from...the backyard?

I glance down from my bedroom window and feel my jaw fall open. Matt Finch is standing below my window, guitar strapped across his chest. I pull my window up, and I expect the song from that old movie - the one about a guy with a trench coat and the big radio and his heart on his sleeve.

But it's not that. It's not anything I recognise, and I strain to make out the lyrics: Stop being ridiculous, stop being ridiculous, Reagan.

What an asshole.

The mesh screen and two floors between us don't seem like enough to protect him from my anger.

"Nice apology," I call down to him.
"I've apologised thirteen times," he yells back, "and so far you haven't called me back."

I open my mouth to say it doesn't matter, but he's already redirecting the song.

"Now I'm gonna stand here until you forgive me," he sings loudly, "or at least until you hear me out, la-la, oh-la-la. I drove seven hours overnight, and I won't leave until you come out here."

(...) "This is private property!" My throat feel coarse from how loudly I'm yelling. "And that doesn't even rhyme!"

The guitar chord continues as he sings, "Then call the cops, call the cops, call the cops..."

I storm downstairs, my feet pounding against the staircase. When I turn the corner, my dad looks almost amused from his seat in the recliner. Noticing ~ Emery Lord

When you work on something in an edit room with just a couple of other people, you never know how it is going to be received. ~ Marshall Curry

Christmas," said Robin, with a faint grin but without apology. "I was going to put it up yesterday, but after Leonora was charged I didn't feel very festive. Anyway, I've got you an appointment to see her at six. You'll need to take photo ID - " "Good work, thanks." " - and I got you sandwiches and I thought you might like to see this," she said. "Michael Fancourt's given an interview about Quine." She passed him a pack of cheese and pickle sandwiches and a copy of The Times, folded to the correct page. Strike lowered himself onto the farting leather sofa and ate while reading the article, which was adorned with a split photograph. On the left-hand side was a picture of Fancourt standing in front of an Elizabethan country house. Photographed from below, his head ~ Robert Galbraith

I have received your new book against the human race, and thank you for it. Never was such a cleverness used in the design of making us all stupid. One longs, in reading your book, to walk on all fours. But as I have lost that habit for more than sixty years, I feel unhappily the impossibility of resuming it. Nor can I embark in search of the savages of Canada, because the maladies to which I am condemned render a European surgeon necessary to me; because war is going on in those regions; and because the example of our actions has made the savages nearly as bad as ourselves. [in response to Rousseau's "The Social Contract"] ~ Voltaire

If hard work, integrity, thrift, and perseverance have caused you to succeed, then you don't owe anyone an apology for winning. ~ Dave Ramsey

The safest course for an Infinite Way student to follow is to admit freely that he does not know how to pray, how to go out or come in, or what to pray for, and then open himself in receptivity to that still small Voice which is within, closer than breathing, and let It pray through him, let It utter Its voice, let It have Its way. If you are praying for someone else, let It inform you, let It inform your patient or your student.

Do not try to be Omniscience yourself in your praying, because you can be Omniscience only when you are completely absent from the personal sense of self, when you are absent from any knowledge, when you have attained that place of unknowing in which you definitely know that you do not know, and do not even want to know, but are willing and open to receive spiritual wisdom, spiritual guidance, spiritual strength.

When you are praying or meditating for someone else, do not try to transfer thoughts to him, do not try to know what is right for him or best for him, but sit in a state of complete receptivity, and then let the Father function as your consciousness. You may not receive any message for your patient or student, but you do not need any. He will receive it, and he will receive it not from you, but from the Source of you. Your consciousness acts only as the instrument of contact, and you yourself may never know what the message is, or even whether any message has been received ~ Joel S. Goldsmith

It was the gift that every girl dreams of, to be dead long enough for your parents to realize how meaningless their lives were without you, how they were suddenly and at once deeply sorrowed at all of the horrible injustices they caused you, how they had truly never appreciated your natural gifts of beauty and grace, being that their beautiful angel would have such a short time on earth and should have spent that time driving the restored 1965 convertible Mustang she had openly AND PUBLICLY desired. But nope, she spent her last, short, fleeting moments driving a 1980 Chevy Citation, every so clearly a GRANDMA car, with fake red-velvet upholstery, a hatchback, and an interior that smelled like spoiled milk and sometimes meat. Being temporarily run over by a car was the best present I had ever received, and I didn't even have to do anything dramatic to get it, like write a note or buy some rope. ~ Laurie Notaro

She said she knew we were safe with you, and always would be, because once, when she asked you to, you'd given up the thing you most wanted."
Archer received this strange communication in silence. His eyes remained unseeingly fixed on the thronged sunlit square below the window. At length he said in a low voice: "She never asked me. ~ Edith Wharton

Is that all I am to have?" She followed him. "I suppose you consider an apology beneath you."
Rather, he was considering her beneath him, how good she'd felt there, and how he would like that again. He halted. "Madam, I offer my profoundest apology. It shan't happen again." As though his feet moved of their own will, he found himself stepping toward her. "Unless you wish it to."
She backed up. "Not in this life." But her eyes were wary.
Good. He did not wish to frighten her. But keeping her wary could work. And yet the most powerful need to be near her would not leave him. Of course it wouldn't. After two long years he wanted a woman. Among his brother's potential brides was not, however, the place to go searching for one. "That must be to my advantage, then," he said.
She screwed up her brow. "Must it?"
"You wield an impressive pitchfork."

-Ravenna & Vitor ~ Katharine Ashe

I never knew it happened like that."
I snap my gaze to her. "What?"
"You know. Romeo and Juliet stuff. Love at first sight and all that."
"It's not like that," I say quickly.
"You could have fooled me." We're up again. Catherine takes her shot. It swishes cleanly through the hoop.
When I shoot, the ball bounces hard off the backboard and flies wildly through the air, knocking the coach in the head. I slap a hand over my mouth. The coach barely catches herself from falling. Several students laugh. She glares at me and readjusts her cap.
With a small wave of apology, I head back to the end of the line.
Will's there, fighting laughter. "Nice," he says. "Glad I'm downcourt of you."
I cross my arms and resist smiling, resist letting myself feel good around him. But he makes it hard. I want to smile. I want to like him, to be around him, to know him. "Happy to amuse you."
His smile slips then, and he's looking at me with that strange intensity again. Only I understand. I know why. He must remember...must recognize me on some level even though he can't understand it.
"You want to go out?" he asks suddenly.
I blink. "As in a date?"
"Yes. That's what a guy usually means when he asks that question."
Whistles blow. The guys and girls head in opposite directions.
"Half-court scrimmage," Will mutters, looking unhappy as he watches the coaches toss out jerseys. "We'll talk later in study hall. Okay?"
I nod, my chest ~ Sophie Jordan

As she relaxed against his chest, he pulled her in closer. Turning her face into his shirt, she breathed in the calming scent that was him. "I'm sorry," she mumbled into the fabric.
One big hand stroked over her head, down her long ponytail to rub her back in soothing circles. "No, I'm sorry. You've told me before it made you uncomfortable and I pushed. That was an asshole move. You're entitled to your feelings and I shouldn't fight against them. I'm sorry." He dropped a kiss on her temple.
And with that little apology, she stepped off the cliff of denial and fell headfirst into love with Brett Wallace. ~ Jeanette Murray

In 2008, the national Coping with Cancer project published a study showing that terminally ill cancer patients who were put on a mechanical ventilator, given electrical defibrillation or chest compressions, or admitted, near death, to intensive care had a substantially worse quality of life in their last week than those who received no such interventions. And, six months after their death, their caregivers were three times as likely to suffer major depression. Spending one's final days in an I.C.U. because of terminal illness is for most people a kind of failure. You lie on a ventilator, your every organ shutting down, your mind teetering on delirium and permanently beyond realizing that you will never leave this borrowed, fluorescent place. The end comes with no chance for you to have said goodbye or "It's O.K." or "I'm sorry" or "I love you."

People have concerns besides simply prolonging their lives. Surveys of patients with terminal illness find that their top priorities include, in addition to avoiding suffering, being with family, having the touch of others, being mentally aware, and not becoming a burden to others. Our system of technological medical care has utterly failed to meet these needs, and the cost of this failure is measured in far more than dollars. The hard question we face, then, is not how we can afford this system's expense. It is how we can build a health-care system that will actually help dying patients achieve what's most important to them ~ Atul Gawande

Being broke is not a crime, nor is it proof of one's inadequacy as a writer or as a human being. If you go around with an attitude of implicit apology for being temporarily without funds, it's going to do you more harm than good. ~ Lawrence Block

An apology is supposed to be a communion - a coming together. For someone to make an apology, someone has to be listening. They listen and you speak and there's an exchange. That's why we have a thing about accepting apologies. ~ Jon Ronson

Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain.
For we've received orders for to sail for old England.
And we may never see you fair ladies again. ~ Deborah Harkness

ANITA,
I KNEW THAT MOMENT IN THE CAVE THAT YOU WOULD THINK AS I DID. I FELT THAT YOU WOULD KNOW WHERE I WOULD GO TO HUNT. NOW HERE YOU ARE. I AM NEARBY.
I HAVE WATCHED YOU COME TO THE GOOD PROFESSOR'S RESCUE. I WATCHED YOU TAKE THE ENVELOPE, AND I KNOW YOU ARE READING IT NOW. I BELITTLED EDWARD WHEN HE SPOKE OF SOUL MATES. I OWE HIM AN APOLOGY. WHEN I SAW YOU TAKE HIS HEART, SO PRACTICED, I KNEW THAT YOU WERE AS I AM. HOW MANY HAVE YOU KILLED? HOW MANY HEARTS HAVE YOU RIPPED OUT? HOW MANY HEADS HAVE YOU TAKEN? YOU'LL ARGUE WITH YOURSELF THAT YOU ARE NOT AS I AM. MAYBE YOU DON'T TAKE TROPHIES, BUT YOU STILL LIVE FOR THE KILL, ANITA. YOU WOULD WITHER AND DIE WITHOUT THE VIOLENCE. WHAT TRICK OF FATE HAS MADE YOU PHYSICALLY THE WOMAN I KILL OVER AND OVER AGAIN, AND YET PUT INSIDE THAT TINY BODY THE OTHER HALF OF MY SOUL? ARE MOST OF THE VAMPIRES YOU KILL MEN? DO YOU HAVE YOUR VICTIM PREFERENCE, ANITA?
I WOULD LOVE TO HUNT WITH YOU AT MY SIDE. I WOULD HUNT YOUR VICTIMS BECAUSE I KNOW YOU WILL NOT HUNT MINE. BUT WE WOULD STILL KILL TOGETHER AND CUT THE BODIES UP, AND THAT WOULD BE MORE THAN I EVER DREAMED OF SHARING WITH A WOMAN.
"What does the note say?" Bernardo asked.
I handed it to him.
Bernardo read faster than I would have thought, "Jesus, Anita, Olaf has a crush on you."
"A crush," I said, "a crush, God, there's got to be another word for it. ~ Laurell K. Hamilton

You're not beneath me. I'd never think that."

Yes, you are beneath her, he reminded himself, bracing against the forbidden bliss coursing through his veins. And don't dare imagine you'll ever be atop her. Or curled behind her. Or buried deep inside her while she -

Bloody hell. The fact that he could even think such a thing. He was crude, disgusting. So undeserving of even this slight caress. Her gesture was made out of guilt, offered in apology. If he took advantage, he would be a devil.

He knew all this.

But he flexed his arms anyway, drawing her close.

"You're worried you've hurt my feelings," he murmured.

She nodded, just a little.

"I don't have those."

"I forgot."

Amazing. He marveled at her foolishness. After all he'd said to her, she would worry about him? Within this small, slight woman lived so much untapped affection, she couldn't help but squander it on music pupils and mongrel dogs and undeserving brutes. What was it like, he wondered, to live with that bright, glowing star in her chest? How did she survive it?

If he kissed her deeply enough and held her tight - would some of its warmth transfer to him? ~ Tessa Dare

I had just sat down with my plate of food and hit play on the new CD player I'd received the night before, ready to hear the sounds of Handel's opening movement, when I remembered the horses.

"Ah hell!" I cursed, sounding exactly like my dad. It was hard not to grow up swearing when you lived on a farm. We never took the Lord's name in vain or said the F-word, but pretty much damn, hell, and shit were part of the vernacular of most folks born and raised in Levan. To tell the truth, those words weren't really considered swear words. Last week in church, Gordon Aagard was giving a sermon on trials. He referred to horse shit right in the middle of his talk, and nobody really batted an eye. ~ Amy Harmon

What happened?" Dallas asked immediately, his hand reaching out toward Louie. I didn't miss how Lou took his hand instantly.

"She called me a brat," Louie blurted out, his other little hand coming up to meet with the one already clutching our neighbor's.

I blinked and told myself I was not going to look at Christy until I had the full story.

"Why?" Dallas was the one who asked.

"He spilled some of his hot chocolate on her purse," it was Josh who explained. "He said sorry, but she called him a brat. I told her not to talk to my brother like that, and she told me I should have learned to respect my elders."

For the second time around this woman, I went to ten. Straight through ten, past Go, and collected two hundred dollars.

"I tried to wipe it up," Louie offered, those big blue eyes going back and forth between Dallas and me for support.

"You should teach these boys to watch where they're going," Christy piped up, taking a step back.

Be an adult. Be a role model, I tried telling myself. "It was an accident," I choked out. "He said he was sorry… and your purse is leather and black, and it'll be fine," I managed to grind out like this whole thirty-second conversation was jabbing me in the kidneys with sharp knives.

"I'd like an apology," the woman, who had gotten me suspended and made me cry, added quickly.

I stared at her long face. "For what?"

"From Josh, fo ~ Mariana Zapata

You never know how you're going to be received, after all this time. The initial response we had was just overwhelming, particularly that tour of the States. ~ Roger Andrew Taylor

The shock of orgasm pulls you under the wave you never saw coming. It wrestles you to the point of exhaustion and allows you to breathe only when you've died la petite mort. When you've given all and received everything in return. ~ Megan Mitcham

For me there's insecurity when you're releasing an album because you spend all of this time working on that one thing and then once it's done, it's done. After you put it out there to the public you never know which songs are going to work or even if the album is going to work as a whole so there is a little bit of nervousness around predicting what the numbers will be and if it's going to be well- received. ~ John Legend

An apology implies that you wouldn't do it again. (Adam) ~ Patricia Briggs