To the eye of enmity, virtue appears the ugliest blemish.

I don't want everyone to like me; I should think less of myself if some people did.

Love makes everything lovely; hate concentrates itself on the one thing hated.

You cannot be beautiful and hate.

I imagine one reason people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, that they will be forced to deal with pain.

Like an unchecked cancer, hate corrodes the personality and eats away its vital unity. Hate destroys a man's sense of values and his objectivity. It causes him to describe the beautiful as ugly and the ugly as beautiful, and to confuse the true with the false, and the false with the true.

Why do I hate people? Who else is there to hate?

There is nothing in the whole world so painful as feeling that one is not liked. It always seems to me that people who hate me must be suffering from a strange form of lunacy.

I find a fascination, like the fascination for the moth of a star, in those who hold aloof and disdain me.

Everybody hates me because I'm so universally liked.