“When had she moved so close? Her brain screamed at her to back away. She would regret this. She already regretted this.”

“She would follow him, and if he made a move to hurt her, she promised herself he would long regret it. At least she would try to make him long regret it. Of course, the worst thing she could probably manage would be to bleed on him. Fine revenge, that. (Serenity)”

“She wishes she had looked more closely at every bit of her world when she was growing up so she could give more of it to Wash but it had been wrapped so close around her, she had no idea she would ever be without it.”

“Already she could feel the stunning weight of a lifetime of regret for letting him go, and she knew that it was enough to bury her alive.”

“I tried to live cautiously - or eventually learned to try to live - in a spirit of regret prevention, and I could not see how Bonnie could accomplish such a thing in this situation. Regret - operatic, oceanic, fathomless - seemed to stretch before her in every direction. No matter which path she took, regret would stain her feet and scratch her arms and rain down on her, lightlessly and lifelong. It had already begun.”

“She remembered a story she had once heard: a woman had gossiped about her neighbors and later regretted what she said. She went to the rabbi and asked how she might take back her words. He instructed her to take a feather pillow to the top of the highest hill and tear it open, letting the feathers fly every which way. Then, the rabbi said, she should return to him and he would tell her what to do. She did as he said and when she returned, he told her to go outside and gather the feathers. But that's impossible, she cried. They're already scattered all over the village. He looked at her and smiled. The same is true of your words, he said.”