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"It was the hate of the used and tormented, who are the children of the used and tormented, and whose own children will be used and tormented."
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Exlpore more Hate quotes
"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."
Hate,
"I hate that which we have decided to call realism, even though I have been made one of its high priests."
"We do not hate as long as we still attach a lesser value, but only when we attach an equal or a greater value."
"I hate the word 'sneering', I can't help the way my face looks."
"To be a real philosopher all that is necessary is to hate some one else's type of thinking."
"I never storyboard. I hate it. I don't understand why so many directors want to make comic strips of their films."
"Life sometimes confuses us by making us discover in someone we hate a quality or qualities we love."
"Hate looks like everybody else until it smiles."
Explore more quotes by Laini Taylor
"His eyes are blue, and blue eyes up close are a celestial phenomenon: nebulae as seen through telescopes, the light of unnamed stars diffused through dusts and elements and endlessness. Layers of light. Blue eyes are starlight."
"It's alright, you know...To love him...Please, child, do you think I don't know you at all? I'm not going to say there is some easy future for you, or even any future at all. I only want you not to punish yourself. You've always felt the truth in him, then and now. Your heart is not wrong. Your heart is your strength. You don't have to be ashamed."
"Happiness wasn't a mystical place to be reached or won-some bright terrain beyond the boundary of misery, a paradise waiting for them to find it-but something to carry doggedly through everything."
"He read while he walked. He read while he ate. The other librarians suspected he somehow read while he slept, or perhaps didn't sleep at all."
"When they had hurried to the train station with their violin cases, they had drawn almost as many stares as they would on any normal day when their hair was to their knees and sheeting behind them like red silk. A poetic fruit-seller had told them once that they looked like dryads, and they did still, only now they looked like dryads who had tired of snagging their hair on brambles and sliced it all off on the edge of a knife."
"Skathis might have been an artist, but he'd been a vile one. Strange the dreamer was an artist, too, and he was the antidote to vile."
"It was a different life out here, but make no mistake: Lazlo was every bit the dreamer he had always been, if not more. He might have left his books, but he carried all his stories with him."
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