Best 1530 quotes in «hatred quotes» category

The religious issue was dragged out, and stirred up flames of hatred and intolerance. Clergymen, mobilizing their heaviest artillery of thunder and brimstone, threatened Christians with all manner of dire consequences if they should vote for the 'in fidel' from Virginia. This was particularly true in New England, where the clergy stood like Gibraltar against Jefferson.

There's a reason that murderous hatred has to be taught--and not just taught, but forcibly implanted. It's not a naturally occurring phenomenon. It is a lie. It is a lie told over and over again--often to people who have no resources and who are denied alternative views of the world.

There's an inexplicable joy that exists on a brown child's face and in the way they navigate their world long before they discover they're hated.

There's a reason that murderous hatred has to be taught- and not just taught, but forcibly implanted. It's not a naturally-occurring phenomenon. It is a lie. It is a lie told over and over again- often to people who have no resources and who are denied alternative views of the world. It's a lie my father believed, and one he hoped to pass on to me.

There were all her feelings for him, sharp and defined, one as true as the other. And there was the other, this hatred, just as real as the rest. She could have done her feelings up in little packets and given them to Stanley. She longed to hand him that last one, for a surprise. She could see his eyes as he opened that...

There were several varieties of hatred, he had learned in the past several days. There was the kind that sent a man spiraling into himself and kept him chained to his bed, unable to do anything but sleep and wallow. And there was the kind that possessed a person and drove him to distraction. The kind that forced him to seek escape in wine and women and inane adventures. Those sorts of hate were certainly terrible and had profound effects on a person. But the third kind, that was the most lethal. The third was the kind of hate that infected a man, and it replicated and ran through his veins, replacing his blood. And it drove him to do terrible, vile, murderous things. That was the sort that propelled Hook forward into the trees that night.

There would be no more offerings. Not this day. Not any day. Humankind had suffered enough for its love of gods, its long search for God. He thought of the many centuries in which his people, the Jews, had negotiated with God, complaining, bickering, decrying the unfairness of things but always - always - returning to obedience at whatever the cost. Generations dying in the ovens of hatred. Future generations scarred by the cold fires of radiation and renewed hatred.

The seriousness of being part of Operation Desert Storm-the first major foreign crisis for the United States after the end of the Cold War- was never lost upon us.

The simple truth of the matter is that people who complain about a peaceful parade which lasts at best one hour in a particular place - ONCE in a whole year - do so out of hatred and intolerance. it isn't just the parade, it is seeing gay and trans people in public - and gay and trans people BEING gay and trans in public. And that is the root of the problem - they HATE gay and trans people.

The sooner we heal our traumas, the sooner we liberate ourselves from the people who hurt us. By hating them, we hold onto them. We cannot heal.

...The typhoon of madness that swept through the country [of Rwanda] between April 7 and the third week of May accounted for 80 percent of the victims of the genocide. That means about eight hundred thousand people were murdered during those six weeks, making the daily killing rate at least five times that of the Nazi death camps. The simple peasants of Rwanda, with their machetes, clubs, and sticks with nails, had killed at a faster rate than the Nazi death machine with its gas chambers, mass ovens, and firing squads. In my opinion, the killing frenzy of the Rwandan genocide shared a vital common thread with the technological efficiency of the Nazi genocide--satanic hate in abundance was at the core of both.

The truth is considered hatred by those who hate the truth.

The truth, when it matches with what we want, think, or believe already, we love it. But, when it doesn't, we either hate it or ignore it, or both.

The whole world is festering with unhappy souls: The French hate the Germans, the Germans hate the Poles' Italians hate Yugoslavs, South Africans hate the Dutch; and I don't like anybody very much!

The voice that says, “That’s the way I am,” is the voice of knowledge. It’s the voice of the liar living in the Tree of Knowledge in your head. The Toltec consider it a mental disease that is highly contagious because it’s transmitted from human to human through knowledge. The symptoms of the disease are fear, anger, hatred, sadness, jealousy, conflict, and separation between humans. Again, these lies are controlling the dream of our life. I think this is obvious.

The way you blunder from one catastrophe to the next, it's a wonder the whole galaxy doesn't hate you. The galaxy is a big place, General. You provincial military types don't get far enough out to really see that. -General Tagon & Captain Kevyn Andreyasn

They hate people and their stories; they have hated for so long and with such intensity that in the end the darkness enveloped their whole bodies until their shapes were no longer discernible. That is also why they are so difficult to defeat, because they can disappear into walls or into the ground or float up. They're ferocious and bloodthirsty, and if you're bitten by one you don't just die; a far more serious and terrible fate lies in store: you lose your imagination. (talking about shadows)

The world hates the truth and all that share it, and so if you share truth eventually you will be hated by the world if you are not ready.

The world makes, and hates, bachelors.

The world has been blind in the presence of artificial lights.They blame on the darkness in broad daylight.

They have never put it into words, they cannot; but each absence is a threat. They never felt this way in New York - they moved all over New York. Here each is afraid that one of the others will get into some terrible trouble before he is seen again, and before anyone can help him. It is the spirit of the people, the eyes which endlessly watch them, eyes which never meet their eyes. Something like lust, something like hatred, seems to hover in the air along the country roads, shifting like mist or steam, but always there, gripping the city streets like fog, making every corner a dangerous corner. They spend more of themselves, each day, than they can possibly afford, they are living beyond their means; they drop into bed each evening, exhausted, into an exhausting sleep. And no one can help them. The people who live here know how to do it - so it seems, anyway - but they cannot teach the secret. The secret can be learned only by watching, by emulating the models, by dangerous trial and possibly mortal error.

They were losing. No. They had lost.

Think about what it would mean to fight," he said. "Say we barricade ourselves here in the hotel and refuse to leave. They come at us with their Weapon, whatever it is. Some of us are hurt, some die. We go out to meet them with whatever weapons we can find - sticks, maybe, or pieces of broken glass. We battle each other. Maybe they set fire to the hotel. Maybe we march into the village and steal food from them nad they come after us and beat us. We beat them back. In the end, maybe we damage them so badly that they're too weak to make us leave. What do we have? Friends and neighbors and families dead. A place half destroyed, and those left in it full of hatred for us. And we ourselves will have to live with the memory of the terrible things we have done.

Time did exist here, in small amounts (well some of the time) – and there were feint eddies and currents of time here, things that were barely tangible. Feint forces of the universe they were, nearly indiscernible from the nothingness like a warm breeze on a hot summer night. How long he had been here, he knew not – but he was slowly learning to master these barely tangible waves like a new surfer with one foot on the sandy beach and the other on a shiny new board of Hatred. Revenge splashed around his feet like the cold waves of the ocean of Time. Nearby, two other inmates collided with each other, bounced apart spread-eagled and spiraled off into the distance in infinite slowness. The Wetsuit of Insanity clung to his spiritual body, isolating him from the timelessness that seemed to exist here. A wind of Change blew at him from behind and he pushed off from the beach with iron determination and a mental clarity hereto before unknown to him. Something in the microcosm that didn’t even have a name went ‘bling’ and against all the laws of probability, Brad Xyl opened his eyes.

This life is ironic: for it takes pain to discover pleasure; it takes sadness to know happiness; it takes war to value peace; and it takes hatred to treasure love. [Culled from: "Amara & The Strange Elderly Woman"]

Those with unearned privileges often spin things as 'political correctness' to further silence those they wish to oppress.

This fact is that the heaviest and more burdensome load ever is neither the cement bag nor the iron rod. It is hatred.

To become a better you, take note of what gets you offended quickly and never go there or let it come to you.

Today the most civilized countries of the world spend a maximum of their income on war and a minimum on education. The twenty-first century will reverse this order. It will be more glorious to fight against ignorance than to die on the field of battle. The discovery of a new scientific truth will be more important than the squabbles of diplomats. Even the newspapers of our own day are beginning to treat scientific discoveries and the creation of fresh philosophical concepts as news. The newspapers of the twenty-first century will give a mere 'stick' in the back pages to accounts of crime or political controversies, but will headline on the front pages the proclamation of a new scientific hypothesis. Progress along such lines will be impossible while nations persist in the savage practice of killing each other off. I inherited from my father, an erudite man who labored hard for peace, an ineradicable hatred of war.

To be something abnormal meant that you were to serve the normal. And if you refused, they hated you... and often the normal hated you even when you did serve them.

To be naive is to be unaware of how stupid and cruel other people are; but, by some definitions, ignorance is nearly the opposite of naivety in being a kind of cynicism, in being unaware of their intelligence and humanity. It seems to be a normal although unfortunate case that the great many of us consciously abhor ignorance in others yet subconsciously practice it ourselves: as naivety is apparent and well-known to inflict its damage upon oneself; whereas the alternative and the easier, ignorance, its damage upon others.

To influence people with your leadership gifts, you don’t make them your enemies. When they are your enemies, they won’t take your words seriously; neither will they support your actions.

To thunder hatred, and rain that upon others, never entitles as a noble one, except, evil force, indeed.

To make someone hate you even more, refuse to hate them back.

To the ordinary, opposite, means hatred. Every person sees themselves as love. To the extraordinary, opposite means opportunity.

To those who despair of everything, not reason but only passion can provide a faith, and in this particular case it must be the same passion that lay at the root of the despair—namely, humiliation and hatred. There was no longer any standard of values, both common to and superior to all these men, in the name of which it would have been possible for them to judge one another.

Twinkle twinkle little star, I want to hit you with a car. Throw you off a bridge so high, Hope you break your neck and die.

Trump didn't divide America. He just doused us with gasoline and fanned the flames.

Ukiichukia serikali yako umeichukia nafsi yako. Kwa sababu serikali ndiyo inayoongoza nchi, na nchi ni mwili mmoja.

Ukitaka kumsahau mtu au kitu usimchukie au usikichukie kwa sababu kuchukia kuna nguvu sawa na kupenda.

Tthe thing is, Dr. Foster…the truth is, I like Marina.” He eyed the doctor. “And I actually don’t like you very much.” Oh, it was worth it. God, it was worth it. To see the perennially calm face turn pale, only slightly, but still pale; to see him blink away the hurt in his watery, pallid blue eyes.

Ukiipenda sana nchi yako ni rahisi sana kuichukia serikali yake!

Ulis, he prayed, abandoning the set words, let my anger die with him. Let both of us be freed from the burden of his actions. Even if I cannot forgive him, help me not to hate him. Ulis was a cold god, a god of night and shadows and dust. His love was found in emptiness, his kindness in silence. And that was what Maia needed. Silence, coldness, kindness. He focused his thoughts carefully on the familiar iconography, the image of Ulis’s open hands; the god of letting go was surely the god who would listen to an unwilling emperor. Help me not to feel hatred, he prayed, and after a while it became easier to ask that Dazhis find peace, that Maia’s anger not be added to the weight against his soul.

Ura este ca o umbră lungă, neagră. În majoritatea cazurilor, nici persoana pe care o învăluie nu ştie de unde vine. Este ca o sabie cu două tăişuri. Îl tai pe adversar, dar te tai şi pe tine. Cu cât îl ciopârţeşti mai rău pe adversar, cu atât te mutilezi mai mult pe tine.

Until you let go of that bitterness in your heart, it will find a comfortable place to destroy your dreams, your sight and most times, your sleep.

Unrequited love is a billion times less intolerable than unrequited hate.

Usimchukie mtu, chukia tabia yako.

Varzo looked with shame at her boots. “Look, I wasn’t serious, alright? It was just a thought.” Mercy shook her head. “Shitty thoughts become shitty actions, kid. You really gone your entire life without recognizing there's ah link between the two?

Varzo shrugged. “My people have given them good reason to be biased. The last time you were open and trusting . . . we invaded,” she said unhappily. “Yeah,” muttered the boy just as unhappily. “But while there is good reason for caution, there is never a good reason for hatred, hmm?” He glanced at Varzo and lifted his brows meaningfully.

Victory must be real. It must be earned. That means it must be rare and difficult, against steep odds, and defeat must be the other.