yes, I regret that I had not commited a thousand more.
I regret the days I didn't kill someone, or plot his death, rape a lady or plan the way to, turn two of the closest friends into the worst enemies,
make a poor man's cattle break their necks, set barns and haystacks alight with flames and bet the owners quench them with their tears.
I have often dug a grave and placed the body in front of their loved ones doors, even when their grief and sorrows are nearly gone, and in roman letters, carved on their skin, "do not let your sorrow die, although I am dead."
*scoff* I have done a thousand things people label as criminal or mad as easily and willingly as someone would kill a fly, and there is nothing that I regret except that I can’t commit ten thousand more.