If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn't part of ourselves doesn't disturb us.

It was hard to remember in the heady and sensual clarity of these mornings; I forgot whom I hated and who hated me. I wanted to break out crying from stabs of hopeless joy, or intolerable promise, or because these mornings were too full of beauty for me because I knew too much hate to be contained in a world like this.

Of all the objects of hatred, a woman once loved is the most hateful.

One of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they seem to sense, once hate is gone, that they will be forced to deal with pain.

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned.

You despise me, don't you?
If I gave you any thought I probably would.

I'd like to hate you, but I could never hate you.

I don't want to be full of hate for anybody, but it's too late.

Isn't it funny? I'm enjoying my hatred so much more than I ever enjoyed love. Love is temperamental. Tiring. It makes demands. Love uses you. Changes its mind. But hatred, now. That's something you can use. Sculpt. Wield. It's hard or soft, however you need it. Love humiliates you, but hatred cradles you, it's so soothing.

It's better to be hated for something you are than loved for something you're not.

She felt only hatred for the sad little world she ran against.

How stupid is he who would patch the hatred in his eyes with the smile of his lips.

Am I to bless the lost you, sitting here with my clumsy soul? I sit here on the spike of truth. No one to hate except the slim fish of memory that slides in and out of my brain.

Woman learns to haate to the extent to which her charms - decrease.