Remorse (n.) is the mark of the most cowardly murderer.
Remorse (n.) delights most in ruining what's beautiful — only too often criminals are old and ugly.
Remorse (n.) ages you in a single night — and makes you resemble the one you killed.
Remorse (n.) fills out the void of a life; the man without it is the saddest in the land.
Remorse (n.) mothers you tenderly with hatred, strokes your hair — then, when you least expect it, digs two fingers into your eyes.
Remorse (n.) can be taken over by the guilt-stealer, who heaps a whole city's penitence on himself not to atone for it but perhaps to wring its neck.
Remorse (n.) will be the staring eyes of the houses, the clotted darkness of your souls — with you all your life, until it makes you over to the worms.
Remorse (n.) is the one thing the guilty will not let you insult: spit in my face, call me murderess — but no one may speak ill of my remorse.