Now Hatred is by far the longest pleasure; Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.

Pity is a thing often avowed, seldom felt; hatred is a thing often felt, seldom avowed.

Hate is the consequence of fear; we fear something before we hate it; a child who fears noises becomes a man who hates noise.

The fires of hate, compressed within the heart, Burn fiercer and will break at last in flame.

Pure good soon grows insipid, wants variety and spirit. Pain is a bitter-sweet, which never surfeits. Love turns, with a little indulgence, to indifference or disgust; hatred alone is immortal.

The pleasure of hating, like a poisonous mineral, eats into the heart of religion, and turns it to rankling spleen and bigotry; it makes patriotism an excuse for carrying fire, pestilence, and famine into other lands: it leaves to virtue nothing but the spirit of censoriousness.

To wrong those we hate is to add fuel to our hatred. Conversely, to treat an enemy with magnanimity is to blunt our hatred for him.

Hatred is so lasting and stubborn, that reconciliation on a sickbed certainly forebodes death.

To put more faith in lies and hate Than truth and love is the true atheism.

Maybe there are times when an honest hatred serves us better than love corrupted by sentimentality, meretriciousness, sententiousness, cuteness.