Love or hatred must constantly increase between two persons who are always together; every moment fresh reasons are found for loving or hating better.
Hatred is the vice of narrow souls; they feed it with all their littleness, and make it the pretext of base tyrannies.
Though the human heart may have to pause for rest when climbing the heights of affection it rarely stops on the slippery slope of hatred.
Hatred like love feeds on the merest trifles. Everything adds to it. Just as the being we love can do no wrong, so the one we hate can do no right.
When tempted to be unfaithful, the intellectual woman will try to inspire her husband with indifference, the sentimental woman with hatred, and the passionate woman with disgust.
The response man has the greatest difficulty in tolerating is pity, especially when he warrants it. Hatred is a tonic, it makes one live, it inspires vengeance, but pity kills, it makes our weakness weaker.
Hatred like love feeds on the merest trifles.
The human heart may find here and there a resting-place short of the highest height of affection, but we seldom stop in the steep, downward slope of hatred.
Journalism is a giant catapult set in motion by pigmy hatreds.
