Life & Wisdom Quote by Ogden Nash

Remorse, in Ogden Nash's hands, becomes less a moral alarm system than a domesticated pet: nagging, hungry, and oddly dependent on the very psyche it punishes. The line flips the usual piety around guilt. Instead of treating remorse as an ennobling pain that keeps us honest, Nash pictures it as a parasite with a loyal host. "Consciences that feed it" is the crucial twist. Remorse doesn't just happen to us; we cultivate it, rehearse it, give it airtime, and then act surprised when it takes a bite.

Nash's intent is characteristically barbed but humane. He's not arguing for shamelessness. He's poking at the self-regarding kind of guilt that becomes a lifestyle: the person who can't stop apologizing to themselves because the apology feels like moral work. The subtext is that remorse can be less about accountability than about control - a way to keep the past close, to avoid the riskier business of repair, restitution, or change. If you stay busy feeling bad, you never have to test whether you're capable of doing better.

Context matters: Nash wrote in an era that prized good manners, social restraint, and respectability - conditions ripe for guilt to masquerade as virtue. His comic compression lands because it's psychologically accurate: conscience isn't only a judge; it's also a stage manager. Nash's joke gives remorse a simple instruction - stop biting - and quietly gives the reader a harder one: stop feeding it.