Life is (I think) a blunder and a shame.

As Freud has shown, blunders are not the merest chance. They are the result of suppressed desires and conflicts. They are ripples on the surface of life, produced by unsuspected springs. And these may be very deep - as deep as the soul itself. The blunder may amount to the opening of a destiny.

Nothing stands out so conspicuously, or remains so firmly fixed in the memory, as something which you have blundered.

It was like when you make a move in chess and just as you take your finger off the piece, you see the mistake you've made, and there's this panic because you don't know yet the scale of disaster you've left yourself open to.

A point, like a joke, is a terrible thing to miss.

If a mistake is not a stepping stone, it is a mistake.

Grief is the agony of an instant; the indulgence of Grief the blunder of a life.

It’s what happens next and how you react to it that matters more than the actual mistake.

There’s nothing like a stupid, accidental death to remind you of the supreme futility of everything.

If you make a mistake and do not correct it, this is called a mistake.

It began as a mistake.

Grief is the agony of an instant: the indulgence of grief is the blunder of life.

It is the greatest of all mistakes to do nothing because you can only do little.

The most foolish mistake we could possibly make would be to allow the subject races to possess arms. History shows that all conquerors who have allowed their subject races to carry arms have prepared their own downfall by so doing.