Quotes & Sayings About Hating Him

What have you talked about then?" Alec didn't like how jealous he sounded, but it couldn't be helped. Ever since Charlie had come home he didn't know how to feel about her. It was impossible to just wipe out all the love he'd carried for her for so many years, every time he looked at his sons he saw her in them. He had tried to move on, he had moved on, but a part of him would always love her. Everything he had learnt about being a man, a lover, a true friend, a father; all these things he had learnt with her right by his side. She had made him her constant in a world where she had never known true stability, and he had loved her all the more for it.
But just as it was impossible to stop loving her, the same could be said when it came to hating her. He f*** ing hated her. He loved her with the same intensity of hating her. — K. Carr

Tom . . . is Christ among us?' 'Yes.' Where? Why do I not see him? Why does he not come to me?' 'Because you did not love,' Neville said, hating the fact that he had to say it. — Sara Douglass

I avoid the looming visitor,
Flee him adroitly around corners,
Hating him, wishing him well;

Lest if he confront me I be forced to say what is in no wise true:
That he is welcome; that I am unoccupied;
And forced to sit while the potted roses wilt in the crate or the sonnet cools

Bending a respectful nose above such dried philosophies
As have hung in wreaths from the rafters of my house since I was a child.

Some trace of kindliness in this, no doubt,
There may be.
But not enough to keep a bird alive.

There is a flaw amounting to a fissure
In such behaviour. — Edna St. Vincent Millay

What is the good of believing fervently in God if you wind up hating Him? — Ann-Marie MacDonald

You know those giant stuffed-animal prizes at the carnival? The kind practically nobody wins, except the lucky few? I've never won one."
"Yeah. I've never won one, either."
"Alex was my giant prize. I hated you for taking him away," she admits.
I shrug. "Yeah, well, stop hating me. I don't have him, either."
"I don't hate you anymore," she says. "I've moved on."
I swallow and then say, "Me, too."
Carmen chuckles. Then, just as she walks out of the room, I hear her mumble, "Alex sure as hell hasn't. — Simone Elkeles

In that case, hell, I'll even spring for the coffee. Unless you're some kind of damned tea-drinking Englishman, in which case you can buy your own dirty leafy water."
"Drink tea in America?" Jeremy's eyebrow twitched upwards in disbelief. "I'm not that sort of masochist. Coffee, at least, has the benefit of being horrible the world over, so it doesn't matter where you get it."
Simon eyed him narrowly. "And to think I was almost not hating you."
Jeremy blinked, feigning confusion. "Goodness. Did I say something wrong? — M. Chandler

He, unfortunately for himself, had been beautifully brought up. His teacher had educated him as the child is educated in the womb, where it lives the history of man from fish to mammal
and, like the child in the womb, he had been protected with love meanwhile. The effect of such an education was that he had grown up without any of the useful accomplishments for living
without malice, vanity, suspicion, cruelty, and the commoner forms of selfishness. Jealousy seemed to him the most ignoble of vices. He was sadly unfitted for hating his best friend or torturing his wife. He had been given too much love and trust to be good at these things. — T.H. White

Don't be so hard on yourself," I try to tell him. "It's nothing to be ashamed of." But he's not listening and I'm wondering when I became a motivational speaker. When I made the switch from hating myself to accepting myself. When it became okay for me to choose my own life. — Tahereh Mafi

... in that moment, as he saw and smelled how irresistible its effect was and how with lightning speed it spread and made captives of the people all around him - in that moment his whole disgust for humankind rose up again within him and completely soured his triumph, so that he felt not only no joy, but not even the least bit of satisfaction. What he had always longed for - that other people should love him - became at the moment of his achievement unbearable, because he did not love them himself, he hated them. And suddenly he knew that he had never found gratification in love, but always only in hatred - in hating and in being hated. — Patrick Suskind

unaccustomed Tuscan sunlight, and his body ached from contorting his long frame into a plane seat. The irony of hating long distance flights wasn't lost on him. After all, he spent most of his life jetting between hotels. But he wasn't — Sally Clements

Came farther into the room, hating the tentative, almost timid feeling inside her, distrusting it because she had never felt tentative or timid around Eddie before. She felt anger as well, although that was still nascent. What right did he have to make her feel that way, after all she had done for him, after all she had sacrificed for him? — Stephen King

He moves closer and leans down so I will look at him. And I feel sick, literally nauseated by the smell of bourbon on his breath. And yet I still want to fold myself up and put my entire body in his arms. I am loving him and hating him at the same time. — Kathryn Stockett

I hated him for making me stop hating him — Tim O'Brien

Pride has quite a bit to do with hatred. In many a case in which one hates another, one subconsciously begins patterns of cherry-picking and selective hearing: he continues to look only for things about the other person which he can use to justify his hatred, things which will then make him feel less guilty about hating someone. In this regard, hatred is not so much an emotion as it is a decision. — Criss Jami

I hate a messy kitchen and my more casual husband has come to recognize it's more pleasant for him to clean up after himself rather than deal with me hating a messy kitchen. — Emily Yoffe

Two weeks later I'm the last one in the locker room to change for gym. The click of heels makes me look up. It's Carmen Sanchez. I don't freak out. Instead, I stand and look right at her.
"He was back in Fairfield, you know," she tells me.
"I know," I say, remembering the hand warmers in my locker. But he left. Like a whisper, he was there and then disappeared.
She looks almost nervous, vulnerable. "You know those giant stuffed-animal prizes at the carnival? The kind practically nobody wins, except the lucky few? I've never won one."
"Yeah. I've never won one, either."
"Alex was my giant prize. I hated you for taking him away," she admits.
I shrug. "Yeah, well, stop hating me. I don't have him, either."
"I don't hate you anymore," she says. "I've moved on."
I swallow and then say, "Me, too."
Carmen chuckles. Then, just as she walks out of the room, I hear her mumble, "Alex sure as hell hasn't."
What's that supposed to mean? — Simone Elkeles

The long matrimonial haul was accomplished in cycles. One cycle of bad breath, one cycle of renewed desire, a third cycle of breakdown and small avoidances, still another of plays and dinners that spurred a conversation between them late at night that reminded her of their like minds and the pleasure they took in each other's talk. And then back to hating him for not taking out the garbage on Wednesday. That was the struggle. Sickness and death, caretaking, the martyrdom of matrimony
that was fluff stuff. When the vows kick in, you don't even blink. You just do. She had to be up for it. — Joshua Ferris

My litmus test of compatibility is 'Tom Cruise.' I hate people who hate Tom Cruise, cultural automatons who at the mention of his name reflexively bridle and say the diminutive thespian and Theta level Scientoligist is 'crazy' and 'a terrible actor'. They hate him because he's easy to hate. They think that despising Tom Cruise's lack of personality and supposed lack of talent is somehow a blow against the bland American Anschluss of the rest of the planet. Tom Cruise may indeed be the Christopher Columbus of the twentieth century, sent off by the kings of Hollywood to prove the new world of International Box Office isn't flat and to find a direct route into the Asian market, but the decline of everything isn't his fault; he's just a cinematic explorer and a damn fine actor. And hating him doesn't make you seditious- it makes you complicit. — Paul Beatty

I keep telling the screws over and over again, 'If you treat a young boy in prison like a dog, keep him in a cell that is like a cage and constantly beat him and bully him, that boy is going to grow up hating yous and the system.' The only thing on his mind will be revenge, maybe it is not revenge on the screws that so frequently bullied and tortured him, but in the boy's eyes he is getting revenge on the uniform, as it all means the same thing in the boy's or man's eyes. — Stephen Richards

She was losing it. Needing to harden, hating that she was out of control and sloppy, she punched the leather. He needed to apologize. He needed to stop the fucking car and kiss her. She had to slap him. Eve didn't realize how badly she'd been craving this man. — Debra Anastasia

hating change of every kind. Matrimony, as the origin of change, was always disagreeable; and he was by no means yet reconciled to his own daughter's marrying, nor could ever speak of her but with compassion, though it had been entirely a match of affection, when he was now obliged to part with Miss Taylor too; and from his habits of gentle selfishness, and of being never able to suppose that other people could feel differently from himself, he was very much disposed to think Miss Taylor had done as sad a thing for herself as for them, and would have been a great deal happier if she had spent all the rest of her life at Hartfield. Emma smiled and chatted as cheerfully as she could, to keep him from such thoughts; but when — Jane Austen

Surely you remember the boy in your own school class who was exceptionally "bright", did most of the reciting and answering while the others sat like so many leaden idols, hating him. And wasn't it this bright boy you selected for beatings and tortures after hours? Of course it was. We must all be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the Constitution says, but everyone made equal. Each man the image of every other; then all are happy, for there are no mountains to make them cower, to judge themselves against. So! A book is a loaded gun in the house next door. — Ray Bradbury

your homework finished?" I called up the stairs to my son. When he'd gotten home from school half an hour ago, he grunted, mumbled something about hating school, and then ran upstairs. I didn't know what was up with him lately, but his attitude was awful. I wondered if that bully, Paul, was harassing him again. — Helen Evans

It is not true, what I said before, because I hated him. He was the war criminal, and after the war they hanged him. I was so happy I wept for joy when I heard he was dead. Then I shave my head and took the vow to stop hating. — Ruth Ozeki

Within him, as he hurled himself forward, was born a love, a despairing fondness for this flag which was near him. It was a creation of beauty and invulnerability. It was a goddess, radiant, that bended its form with an imperious gesture to him. It was a woman, red and white, hating and loving, that called him with the voice of his hopes. Because no harm could come to it he endowed it with power. He kept near, as if it could be a saver of lives, and an imploring cry went from his mind. — Stephen Crane

You can't love a person who lives that way without fearing him too. Maybe even hating him a littele — Khaled Hosseini

Jase took a step around the desk, moving closer, narrowing his eyes.
Rebecca placed her hands on her hips, defiance in her stance and voice. "My kids, too."
Two steps brought him in front of her. "You don't have a job if you leave. Your job is here working the ranch with me. If you want to go, go, but don't take off with my children. You can't even fix them dinner."
When she turned, he took hold of her arm, hating this deceit ... and loss. "Why, Rebecca? I've been a good husband to you. — Mary J. McCoy-Dressel

Jaxton smiled and caught his hand, holding it tight in both of his. "Are you burnt out? Is it all too much?" he asked, getting straight to the root of the matter, in one go.
"Yes," he sighed, hating that it was true.
"Then you'll stay home."
"You know I can't. It's impossible," Roman complained about the unfairness of it all.
He was due to return to the studio in two days times, to finalise the tracks he'd recorded yesterday. Then he had to sit down with Jalen next week, to pick out a new piece of his artwork for the next album cover. And two weeks after that, he had three interviews with three different music channels, to film.
"Try telling that to Ben." Jaxton winked at him, then ducked down to kiss him.

~ From the Heart — Elaine White

Suddenly, Cain flipped her over and caged her in, his muscled strength creating a protective embrace. "My diamond," he growled. "You are home."
She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek, then murmured, "Yes. I am."
"I was dead without you. I would have ended up a shell like Rafael."
She kissed him, hating the pain in his voice. "No, never like him. He was evil, Cain, his soul black. Yours isn't. Just a little gray."
He smirked. "Gray?"
She shrugged. "Well you aren't lily white, that's for certain. — Anne Rainey

Are you holding her?" Wrath asked.
There was a pause. "As soon as I get this bow tied in the back - hold on, girlie. Okay, up you go. She's in a pink dress that Cormia made her by hand. I hate pink. I like it on her, though - but keep that to yourself."
Wrath flexed his hands. "What's it like?"
"Not totally hating pink? Pretty fuck - ehrm, frickin' emasculating."
"Yeah."
"Do not tell me Lassiter's been metrosexualizing even you. I heard he talked Manello into going for a pedicure with him - but I'm praying that's just gossip."

-Wrath & Zsadist — J.R. Ward

When we feel that we lack whatever is needed to secure someone else's esteem, we are very close to hating him — Luc De Clapiers

I look away. I'm tired of liking him. I only have a day and a half worth of memories, but they're all filled with me not hating Silas. And now He's made it his personal mission to make me love him. — Tarryn Fisher

The problem, of course, was that [he] saw the world in black and white. And he got to decide what was black and what was white. You can't love a person who lives that way without fearing him too. Maybe even hating him a little. — Khaled Hosseini

Custer was a child once. He didn't spend his childhood killing Indians and stealing their homeland. Nero didn't spend his childhood burning Rome to the ground. Everybody was a child once. No child was born hating the world around him. You had to learn that trait. You had to pick it up from the worst pockets of the universe, the filthiest recesses of society, where the people who learned it before you deposited it when they were done. — Rose Christo

When you have a despicable person as a parent, I truly believe you can't escape hating any part of yourself that resembles him or her. Whether it's a physical similarity, a talent, a propensity or an inclination that you share, all commonalities are abhorrent to you.
I look like my father. I have his thick dark hair and bright blue eyes. I have my mother's nose, but I have my father's wide, full mouth and his height. I am his child, and I hate the man. I hate that I look like him. — Penny Reid

There were perhaps only three feet between them now - three feet and months and months of missing and hating him. Months of crawling out of that abyss he'd shoved her into. But now that she was here ... Everything was an effort not to say she was sorry. Sorry not for what she'd done to his face, but for the fact that her heart was healed - still fractured in spots, but healed - and he ... he was not in it. Not as he'd once been. — Sarah J. Maas

Before she'd fallen asleep, she'd been reminding herself that she couldn't let herself like him, yet here she was, cuddled against him, in his arms again. She decided she'd go back to hating him tomorrow. — Kelly Walker

Showing your compassion to another human takes less energy than hating him. — Ben Midland

The Poet
His teeth splayed in a way he'd notice and pity
in his closest enemies or friends.
Youth held his eye; he blinked at passing beauties,
birds of passage that could not close the gap.
His wife was high-blooded, he counted on her living
she lived, past sixty, then lived on in him,
and often when he plotted lines, she breathed
her acrid sweetness past his imaginings.
She was still a magnificent handle of a woman
did she have her lover as a novelist wished her?
No
hating someone nearer, she found her voice
no wife so loved; though Hardy, home from cycling,
was glad to climb unnoticed to his study
by a circling outside staircase, his own design. — Robert Lowell

She did this not out of fear of him, but out of pity. Because she had come to see the ultimate terrible truth behind all others. Which was that the stupidity and avarice and hatred of mankind had finally begun to make him also stupid, avaricious, hating, and cruel beyond reason. Even though he was a god, a god of love. — Tanith Lee

I found myself hating him, wanting to hurt him, to drive him away from the red-haired girl who was supposed to be mine.
Breathless, I slumped to the wall, numb with the realization. This anger, these illogical feelings of rage and possessiveness ... I was jealous. I was jealous of a girl I was supposed to be stalking, seducing, for the sole purpose of revealing her true nature. This had become more than an objective, more than a mission.
I was falling for her. — Julie Kagawa

I'm stuck somewhere between hating him so much, I never want to see him again and never, ever wanting to him to let me go. — Jessica Love

The energy that usually lashes ineffectively inside each of us now has a conduit, forming a loop of electricity between us, cycling through me, into him. My heart is glowing in my chest like a bulb, flashing brighter with each movement of his lips. — Sally Thorne

Two seconds later, he's there. And I'm stretching out on him like a blanket, and jamming my tongue into his mouth. Jamie moans, but I'm too wrapped up in the taste of him to worry about it. I have my fingers in his hair and his hot, hard body under mine and it's everything I've ever wanted. He's not hating life, either. His hips roll beneath me, his cock bumping and scraping against mine. It aches. My balls are tight already. Rubbing off on him feels amazing, and I love that his sweet mouth is a prisoner of mine. But I don't want to come yet. — Sarina Bowen

Don't waste your courage on hating him. Keep yourself to yourself. And keep up your courage. — Philippa Gregory

More I tried hating him;more I thought about him and I lived with it everyday and I lived with him everyday. — Pushpa Rana

Fagan hated what his father was, but he still loved him. I reckon that's the way God is. Loving us enough to send Jesus but hating the way we live. Hating the sin, not the sinner. — Francine Rivers

I believe we were discussing your dissatisfaction with life as the most popular man in London.'
Her voice rose on the last four words, and Colin realized he'd been scolded. Soundly.
Which he found extraordinarily irritating. 'I don't know why I thought you'd understand,' he bit off, hating the childish tinge in his voice but completely unable to edit it out.
'I'm sorry,' she said, 'but it's a little difficult for me to sit here and listen to you complain that your life is nothing.'
'I didn't say that.'
'You most certainly did!'
'I said I *have* nothing,' he corrected, trying not to wince as he realized how stupid that sounded.
'You have more than anyone I know,' she said, jabbing him in the shoulder. 'But if you don't realize that, then maybe you are correct - your life is nothing. — Julia Quinn

Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr. Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive." "What?" "He saved his life." "What?" "Yes . . ." said Dumbledore dreamily. "Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your father's debt. . . . I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father's memory in peace. . — J.K. Rowling

One may detest the wickedness of a brother without hating him. — Mahatma Gandhi

Enemies." "What Christian resignation!" "As for hating you, of all people! Why ... I consider you adorable. I envy Leandre every day of my life. I have seriously thought of setting him to play Scaramouche, and playing lovers myself. — Rafael Sabatini

And Johnson, genuinely hated by his opponent and the crowd, still enjoying every minute of it. Smiling, joking, playing the whole fight. Why not? There's no value in any other reaction. Should he hate them for hating him? Bitterness was their burden and Johnson refused to pick it up. — Ryan Holiday

And hating himself for caring after everything she'd done to him. — James Dashner

One day they would decide to shoot him. You could not tell when it would happen, but a few seconds beforehand it should be possible to guess. It was always from behind, walking down a corridor. Ten seconds would be enough. In that time the world inside him could turn over. And then suddenly, without a word uttered, without a check in his step, without the changing of a line in his face - suddenly the camouflage would be down and bang! would go the batteries of his hatred. Hatred would fill him like an enormous roaring flame. And almost in the same instant bang! would go the bullet, too late, or too early. They would have blown his brain to pieces before they could reclaim it. The heretical thought would be unpunished, unrepented, out of their reach for ever. They would have blown a hole in their own perfection. To die hating them, that was freedom. — George Orwell

I stopped loving my father at some point while I was a drunk. I began hating him after I became sober. — Phil Volatile

Staying with him. Letting him touch you, hold you, GOD. It's eating me alive. You may be keeping Sawyer from hating me but you're only making me hate him — Abbi Glines

She was very near hating him now; yet the sound of his voice, the way the light fell on his thin, dark hair, the way he sat and moved and wore his clothes - she was conscious that even these trivial things were inwoven with her deepest life. — Edith Wharton

But then she just got tired of hating him and started loving him again. It was easier. — Liane Moriarty

You may claim to love Jesus but your life proves you are still walking in darkness - confused, befuddled and foggy! When you are truly in love with Jesus, conversing with Him, He turns up the light. There is no darkness at all in His presence. The worst possible darkness to mankind is not in the hearts of God-hating Communist leaders or Christ-hating atheists. It is, rather, the horrible darkness that blinds so-called Christians who refuse to walk in the light. — David Wilkerson

Never did he once consider directing his hatred toward the hunters. Such an emotion would have destroyed him ... His subconscious knew what his min did not guess-that hating them would have consumed him, burned him up like a piece of soft coal, leaving only flakes of ash and a question mark of smoke. — Toni Morrison

I've crossed paths since with men like him. I wish I could say differently. But I have. And what I have learned is that you dig a little and you find they're all the same, give or take. Some are more polished, granted. They may come with a little bit of charm
Or a lot
and that can fool you. But really they're all unhappy little boys sloshing around in their own rage. They feel wronged. They haven't been given their due. No one loved them enough. Of course they expect you to love them. They want to be held, rocked, reassured. But it's a mistake to give it to them. They can't accept it. They can't accept the very thing they're needing. They end up hating you for it. And it never ends because they can't hate you enough. It never ends
the misery, the apologies, the promises, the reneging, the wretchedness of it all. My first husband was like that. — Khaled Hosseini

And without forgivness, there is never any peace.I tell you this from the distance of many centuries. My son gave his life. I won't reply to his gift with anger, not even for those who took him from me. Those same poor, sad people will wake up tomorrow grieving their own losses, I think, if they survie at all. How can hating them heal me? — Rachel Caine

I like Rowe's dad. "We'll see you again for dinner, okay?" I turn around to walk backward to answer him, doing my best to fall somewhere between fast and slow with my walk because, hell, I don't want my pitchers hating me. "Looking forward to it, Tom. I'll see you at sex." Motherfucker. I just said sex — Ginger Scott

If I wanted to punish an enemy it should be by fastening on him or her the trouble of constantly hating somebody. — Hannah More

Maybe it was clear that he cared about me, that he couldn't handle another risk, but in that moment the only thing that made sense was my anger. I might have even hated him for what he said about Grace, because hating him was so much easier than understanding him. He obviously felt the same way. — Lisa Roecker

I've done some stupid things. I don't like myself very much right now." She shrugged. "Did you see what she did?" she added heavily. "She stepped right in front of the gun. She saw it coming. She didn't even hesitate. She must ... love him very
much," she added, almost choking on the words.
"She does," he agreed, feeling the words and hating them.
She glanced at him curiously. "You're in love with her,
aren't you?"
"If I am, it's nobody's business except my own," he told
her flatly. — Diana Palmer

The problem is, I've had more practice hating him than loving him. — Anonymous

Here's what I have to say about being married: someday you will look at him, hating him with every fiber of your being, wishing that he would die the most violent death possible. It will pass.
Hannah Horvath's dying grandmother — Lena Dunham

She was one of the few things abhorrent to him that he could touch and therefore hurt. He poured out on her the sum of all his inarticulate fury and aborted desires. Hating her, he could leave himself intact. — Toni Morrison

The thing that gets me is, when I switched to doing an MBA at night while working at Bexley, he was unimpressed. Like he'd had any kind of opinion. Like I wasn't even noticed or acknowledged enough to disappoint. But I have, Over and over, my entire life. My career is a joke to him."

I'm surprised by how angry I'm getting. I think of Anthony, his face permanently twisted into a sarcastic expression,

"He's lost something special in you, Why is he like this?"

"I don't know. If I knew, maybe I could change it. He's just been that way with me, and most people. — Sally Thorne

I judge a man by his actions with men, much more than by his declarations Godwards
When I find him to be envious, carping, spiteful, hating the successes of others, and complaining that the world has never done enough for him, I am apt to doubt whether his humility before God will atone for his want of manliness. — Anthony Trollope

We have all lived through that shriveling moment when a parent walks into a room and repeats, with sardonic disbelief, a couplet picked up from the stereo or the TV. 'What does that mean, then?' my mother asked me during Top of the Pops. "Get it on / Bang a gong"? How long did it take him to think of that, do you reckon?' And the correct answer - 'Two seconds, and it doesn't matter' - is always beyond you, so you just tell her to shut up, while inside you're hating Marc Bolan for making you like him even though he sings about getting it on and banging gongs. — Nick Hornby

Harrison was standing next to the dorm building, checking his Blackberry. She watched him from behind. How was she supposed to be okay just hating him and then loving him on alternate days. What if it never stopped? — Jennifer Close

When my father was diagnosed with terminal cancer in 1991, I asked him if he had any regrets, and he said no. I was a burnt-out litigation solicitor in my thirties, hating my life, and his cancer made me re-evaluate it all. — Michelle Paver

I think you've seen Aslan," said Edmund.
"Aslan!" said Eustace. "I've heard that name mentioned several times since we joined the Dawn Treader. And I felt - I don't know what - I hated it. But I was hating everything then. And by the way, I'd like to apologise. I'm afraid I've been pretty beastly."
"That's all right," said Edmund. "Between ourselves, you haven't been as bad as I was on my first trip to Narnia. You were only an ass, but I was a traitor."
"Well, don't tell me about it, then," said Eustace. "But who is Aslan? Do you know him?"
"Well - he knows me," said Edmund. "He is the great Lion, the son of the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea, who saved me and saved Narnia. We've all seen him. Lucy sees him most often. And it may be Aslan's country we are sailing to. — C.S. Lewis

Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or i'll never go back to him. I'll die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me. — Suzanne Collins

I make it a practice to avoid hating anyone. If someone's been guilty of despicable actions, especially toward me, I try to forget him. I used to follow a practice-somewhat contrived, I admit-to write the man's name on a piece of scrap paper, drop it into the lowest drawer of my desk, and say to myself: "That finishes the incident, and so far as I'm concerned, that fellow. The drawer became over the years a sort of private wastebasket for crumpled-up spite and discarded personalities. Besides, it seemed to be effective, and helped me avoid harboring useless black feelings." — Dwight D. Eisenhower

He despised the words leaving his mouth, hating the way they made him feel. Exposed. Open. By a girl who didn't weigh more than his cock. A girl who stared at him with eyes of fire, who pushed buttons he didn't know he had, and had wormed her way inside a part of him that should be closed. — Alessandra Torre

Napier surfaced next to her and propped his arms on the ledge. "I meant to ask - can you swim?"
"No," she said through chattering teeth, "Actually I can't."
He cocked his head to the side and looked perplexed. "Your lips are blue."
"I'm cold," she said curtly.
"Want me to warm you up?" he asked, grinning.
"I'd rather be cold," she snapped, hating him more by the second. — Emory Sharplin

Nonetheless, after we've dropped off the birds and volunteered to go back to the woods to gather kindling for the evening fire, I find myself wrapped in his arms. His lips brushing the faded bruises on my neck, working their way to my mouth. Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or I'll never go back to him. I'll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the Capitol and kill Snow, and then die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me. So in the fading light I shut my eyes and kiss Gale to make up for all the kisses I've withheld, and because it doesn't matter any more, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it.
Gale's touch and taste and heat remind me that at least my body's still alive, and for the moment it's a welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself. — Suzanne Collins

Brainless and vicious youth whom I had sometimes met in society, and had never thought of hating because I despised him so absolutely. — Charlotte Bronte

Moaning about how his own brilliance disadvantaged him was not a recipe for popularity. Stanley was initially as isolated in high school as Shirley would be in Rochester: "miserably lonely, reading prodigiously, hating everyone, and wishing I had enough courage to talk to girls." One day a boy he recognized from class sat down next to him in the locker room. Stanley, trying to make conversation as he best knew how, asked his classmate if he read Poe. "No, I read very well, thank you," came the reply. Stanley responded huffily that he didn't think puns were very clever. "I don't either," said the other boy, "but they're something I can't help, like a harelip. — Ruth Franklin

I can live with you hating me for that. I'll have to. I can even live with you not hating him. Just dont forgive him, Molly-not all the way. He doesn't deserve that. And neither do you. — Kimberly McCreight

How do I know that loving life is not a delusion? How do I know that in hating death I am not like a man who, having left home in his youth, has forgotten the way back?
Lady Li was the daughter of the border guard of Ai. When she was first taken captive and brought to the state of Jin, she wept until her tears drenched the collar of her robe. But later, when she went to live in the palace of the ruler, shared his couch with him, and ate the delicious meats of his table, she wondered why she had ever wept. How do I know that the dead do not wonder why they ever longed for life? — Zhuangzi

Don't introduce me to that man! I want to go on hating him, and I can't hate a man whom I know. — Charles Lamb

He leaned his head to me, his neck so close to my lips, I felt the heat coming off his skin. His breath was warm against my ear. His voice was a ragged snarl. "I miss you."
This wasn't happening.
"I worry about you." He dipped his head and looked into my eyes. "I worry something stupid will happen and I won't be there and you'll be gone. I worry we won't ever get a chance and it's driving me out of my skull."
No, no, no, no ...
We stared at each other. The tiny space between us felt too hot. Muscles bulged on his naked frame. He looked feral.
Mad gold eyes stared into mine. "Do you miss me, Kate?"
I closed my eyes trying to shut him out. I could lie then we would be back to square one. Nothing would be resolved. I'd still be alone, hating him and wanting him.
He grabbed my shoulders and shook me once. "Do you miss me?"
I took the plunge. "Yes. — Ilona Andrews

A soul that is nurtured by hatred toward man can not be at peace with God, Who has said: If you forgive not men their sins, neither shall your Father forgive your sins (Matt. 6:15). If a man does not want to be reconciled, you must at least guard yourself from hating, praying with a pure heart for him, and speaking no evil of him. — Maximus The Confessor

She set her hands neatly in her lap. "But you just said he liked you."
"No, I said he enjoys my company. That is, he enjoys hating me. Or pretending to hate me. I don't know which.
But I'm finding it difficult to completely dislike someone who gets pleasure from having me around ... "So he likes being mean to you," she said. "And you like that he likes being mean to you."
"And I like being mean to him, too, don't forget."
"Of course not. Pleasure from meanness. There's a name for it: sadomasochism. — Kristin Walker

It hit her like a sledgehammer, and it was then that she knew what to feel. A liquid trail of hate flooded her chest.
Knowing that she would hate him long and well filled her with pleasant anticipation, like when you know you are going to fall in love with someone and you wait for the happy signs. Hating BoyBoy, she could get on with it, and have the safety, the thrill, the consistency of that hatred as long as she wanted or needed it to define and strengthen her or protect her from routine vulnerabilities. — Toni Morrison

I thought I was over him! So why did my heart still rip? Why did I still feel this sorrow? I got this strange sensation that God was with me. And he was angry. He was very angry
not at me and not at Jack. God was angry at the pain I was going through. I wondered if that was why God hated sin, because of the destruction it caused. For a moment I felt awe for a God who loved me enough to hate the things that hurt me without hating me for causing them. — Susan E. Isaacs

Why should I mind?" She drummed her fingertips against his knee. "Because you got asked to play baseball, while I got a lecture on circumspection, Jezebels, and leading men into sin?"
"Did you really?" He managed to sound annoyed, fascinated, and amused all at once.
"It's not funny."
"Of course it's not." He was quick to try and placate her. "But we can do something about those lectures real quick. All you have to do is marry me."
Coyote Bluff had too many secrets that weren't hers to share. She couldn't put him in that position. He was a federal marshal. And she'd seen what all the lies her father told had done to her mother. She'd died hating him.
The last remnants of her earlier contentment vanished. "I like my independence."
"Then I guess you'll have to get used to the lectures, Sheriff Jezebel," he replied. — Paula Altenburg

When Pat Buchanan came out against the Beijing Women's Conference and there were women standing next to him, smiling and laughing when he was making fun of it, I was so embarrassed. I don't mind when the more liberal or moderate Republican women talk about smaller government or money issues and things of that nature. But when I see a conservative Republican woman in line with the Christian right or coming out against abortion and day-care issues and for taking away womens' aid, I see a self-hating, unenlightened woman, like a self-hating Jew. That blows my mind. I don't get it at all. — Janeane Garofalo

Looking back, I question whether I really loved Nate, or just the security of our relationship. I wonder if my feelings for him didn't have a lot to do with hating my job. From the bar exam through that first hellish year as an associate, Nate was my escape. And sometimes that can feel an awful lot like love. — Emily Giffin

Can you imagine, finally showing your true self to your spouse, your soul mate, and having him not like you? So that's how the hating first began. I've thought about this a lot, and that's where it started, I think. — Gillian Flynn

There is a trick to flying. The angels told me." He had smiled at my wide-eyed awe. "You need to forget everything you know as a human being. When you are human, you discover that there is great power in hating the earth. And it can almost make you fly. But it never will."
I had frowned, not quite understanding him. "So, what's the trick?"
"Love the sky. — Anne Fortier

An old drinking buddy of mine had come home from a two-week binge with a rose tattooed on his arm. Around the blossom was written Fuck 'em all/and sleep till noon. His wife made him have it surgically removed, but she hated the scar even more. Every time he touched it, he grinned. Some years later she tried to remove the grin with a wine bottle, but she only knocked out a couple of teeth, which made the grin even more like a sneer. The part that I don't understand, though, is that they are still married. He is still grinning and she is still hating it. — James Crumley

He stared at me for a moment, his rugged face looking torn, before he quickly put his arm around me and led me toward the cabin. There was something so wonderfully solid about the gesture, the feeling of him behind me, that it made me momentarily forget who this was. He may have just "saved" me, but it was still Indian-hating Jake McGraw, and we mixed about as well as oil and vinegar. — Karina Halle

I feel what they feel: man-hating, that volatile admixture of pity, contempt, disgust, envy, alienation, fear, and rage at men. It is hatred not only for the anonymous man who makes sucking noises on the street, not only for the rapist or the judge who acquits him, but for what the Greeks called philo-aphilos, 'hate in love,' for the men women share their lives with-husbands, lovers, friends, fathers, brothers, sons, coworkers. — Judith Levine

When people hate with all that energy, it is something in themselves they are hating. Alex is hating all the illusions of boyhood - innocence, God, hope. Poor Lady Marchmain has to bear all that. He loved me for a time, quite a short time, as a man loves his own strength; it is simpler for a woman; she has not all these ways of loving. Now Alex is very fond of me and I protect him from his own innocence. — Evelyn Waugh

- pity is a confoundedly two-edged business. Anyone who doesn't know how to deal with it should keep his hands, and, above all, his heart, off it. It is only at first that pity, like morphia, is a solace to the invalid, a remedy, a drug, but unless you know the correct dosage and when to stop, it becomes a virulent poison. The first few injections do good, they soothe, they deaden the pain. But the devil of it is that the organism, the body, just like the soul, has an uncanny capacity for adaptation. Just as the nervous system cries out for more and more morphia, so do the emotions cry out for more and more pity, in the end more than one can give. Inevitably there comes a moment when one has to say 'No', and then one must not mind the other person's hating one more for this ultimate refusal than if one had never helped him at all. — Stefan Zweig