I don't like hope very much. In fact, I hate it. It's the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard. It's bad news. The worst. It's sharp sticks and cherry bombs. When hope shows up, it's only a matter of time until someone gets ...
For all his wisdom, he did not know that love cannot be tested. Honesty can be tested and loyalty. But there is not test for love. Love goes on forever, once it begins, even if we come to hate the one we love. Love goes on forever because love is bor...
Love is fireworks. It’s the first dance. It’s the first kiss. It’s the first time you make love. It’s the first hateful word. It’s the first fight. It’s the first tear you shed. It’s the first time you made up.
But if I could just get som ehint, some sign..." Conchita smiles, without humor, but with great affection. "That's the point behind faith," she says. "It's not something you can prove....I know you hate to hear this, but you either have it, or you do...
Why shouldn't I hate her? She did the worst thing to me that anyone can do to anyone else. Let them believe that they're loved and wanted and then show them that it's all a sham.
I'm serious, Mar, I don't know how to act around him now. I can't be nice, because he'll hate that. But I can't be mean just to be nice." "You really need medication." "I'm in a quandary. A Catch-22. I'm screwed.
Sometimes I hate him. When he does the dishes, he shakes off each one before setting it in the drying rack. Water flies everywhere. A couple of drops always hit me in the face. I have to leave the room to avoid smashing a plate against his head.
I am the mother that bore you, and your sorrow is my agony; and if you don't hate her, i do' Then, mother, you make me love her more. She is unjustly treated by you, and I must make the balance even.
Find someone else to toy with. We both know I lack experience, so I don't know how to play the game without getting hurt. Besides, I hate games. I prefer knowing straight up what's real and what's bullcrap.
I’m such a terrible speller that sometimes I misspell words so bad that they become unreadably readable. For example, I might misspell a simple word like “Love” and have it come out as the properly spelled “Hate.
I can’t bear the smell of cigars, can you?” said Lady Partridge. “Lionel hates it too,” murmured Rachel. As did Nick, to whom the dry lavatorial stench of cigars signified the inexplicable confidence of other men’s tastes and habits, and th...
What I have told you is not completely true. You should beware, for often in this story, my words will be spoken out of bitterness, out of hate. The scream of the poor is not always just; but if you do not listen to it, then you will never understand...
I have been a friend to Shadowhunters. I know many of your families, going back for hundreds of years." "There is nothing we can do to correct the questionable judgments of our ancestors," Lucian said. Magnus hated this guy.
The God of Christians raped mother of his messenger according to their manifest; later, their followers’ burned and tortured women like their fellow delusional God. The God of Muhammad hated women; he considered them half of man and his followers w...
Pretty much everyone hates high school. It’s a measure of your humanity, I suspect. If you enjoyed high school, you were probably a psychopath or a cheerleader. Or possibly both.
Such anger. Do you want to talk about it?" Vincent called out. When there was no reply, Vincent picked up the whistling where he'd left off, smiling at the success of wreaking havoc on Darius. Vincent didn't hate Darius, or any other Gwarda for that ...
Anyone can be crazy. That's usually just because there's something screwed up in your wiring, you know? But suicide is a whole different thing. I mean, how much do you have to hate yourself to want to just wipe yourself out?
I tell myself I have time. But the itch forming along the back of my neck and across my shoulders says otherwise. I hate this. It’s like I’m racing a clock ticking down to doomsday without knowing how much time I have left.
each hour is a room of shame, and I am swimming, swimming, holding my head up, smiling, joking, ashamed, ashamed, like being naked with the clothed, or being a child, having to try to behave while hating the terms of your life.
I cannot, I cannot,' cried Marianne; 'leave me, leave me, if I distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me! But do not torture me so. Oh! how easy for those who have no sorrow of their own to talk of extertion!
Our mind is who we are; it’s where we feel and think and believe. It’s where we have love and hate and faith and passion.’ I was getting a little embarrassed by your earnestness but you continued, ‘How can someone hope to treat another person...
