Hate Quotes - Page 327

The problem with being a gun rights supporter is that the left hates guns and the right hates rights.

Hate is too mild of a word. But it's nothing personal, I don't think.

Her hand fluttered over her heart. "Did you just say the word shopping without flinching?" "I did. So?" "So, that's gotta be a record. It's a worldwide fact men hate shopping." "How can I hate it when I've never done it?" Her lips curled into a slow, beautiful smile. "If you weren't already an angel, I'd dub you a saint. Poor guy. You have no idea what you're in for.

Fine," Strider said tightly. "You can. But you wont. Because you know that if you take the woman out of this home, I'll go gray from worry. And you like my hair the way it is." "Stridey-man. Are you hitting on my? Trying to get me to run my fingers through those mangy locks?" Gideon chuckled. "Sweetie pie." Striders lips even twitched into a grin. "You know I hate when you get mushy like that." Boy loved it. No question.

Hate. Huh. He'd never hated himself. If anything, he'd always liked himself a little too much. Once, a human female had even accused him of picturing his own face while he climaxed. He hadn't denied it, either, and next time he'd slept with her, he'd made sure to scream, "Strider" at the pivotal moment." --Strider, keeper of the demon of Defeat--

You stood over me and you made a promise to me, as sacred as any vow. And I can understand why you're angry, but you can't blame me. You can't hate me for taking your word.

I don't hate you. I don't think I ever really did. It was just anger. And once I faced it head-on, once understood it, it dissipated. -Mia

Live happily, not hating even those who are hostile. Live peacefully even amongst those that hate.

Hate is only conquered by love.

It is one of my pet hates when I see players who have agents who do everything for them. They don't know how to set up their own bank accounts, they don't know what they are spending their money on and they can't make their own decisions.

I hate to repeat lines, to say the same damned thing. I try to rewrite cliches and make what I say sound fresh.

I hated school, didn't like the discipline.

I hate the idea of turning jazz into homework assignments. I would never have a quiz saying, "Who's the clarinetist on the Hot Five?" I don't care. If you like the clarinetist, you'll know who it is.

I know of musicians who have played together for decades who hate each other. The Modern Jazz Quartet for one.

I love the road. That's always been my goal. I've said that to many record labels. I want to make records. The road is my favorite. Some people hate the road, I love the road.

I gotta be honest with you...I hate numbers. I hate chapter numbers. I hate them.

I realized, that the life of a musician, even of a very lucky, very successful musician, wasn't really the life I wanted: I hate travel, I hate living out of suitcases, I hate the constant anxiety of being on stage.

I'm a good craftsman and I can have this particular intention: let's say, I want a photograph that's going to push a certain button in an audience, to make them laugh or love, feel warm or hate or what - I know how to do this.

I loved feeling special. I hated feeling special.

Here's the thing, trust changes everything. Once you know what an artist can do, and you know their commitment level, it opens up the playbook hugely. I have worked with artists I really love, but they may have some small aspect that they hate drawing, or that they don't excel at, and that effectively takes that option off the table.

You know what I figured out?" I hate this part." Dr. Martin leaned back in his chair. "It means I'm about to lose income or I'm about to learn what a crappy shrink I am." (276)

Simon Glass was easy to hate. I never knew exactly why, there was just too much to pick from. I guess, really, we each hated him for a different reason, but we didn't realize it until the day we killed him.

Alice?” She spun toward the door, her skirts whirling softly. “Yes?” she forced out. “Do you know what I am holding in my hand?” “No.” “Care to guess?” “A pitchfork?” she asked in a stilted attempt at levity, hoping to invoke his earlier, playful mood. “No, my dear,” he answered drily. “A key to your room.” “What?”she breathed, aghast. “I should hate to have to use it.” “You have a key to this room?” “Mm-hmm.” She took a step toward the door, panic rising up in her throat. “You’re bluffing!” “Do you wish me to prove it?

A question I’ve thought about a great deal is why it is so much easier to write about the things we dislike/hate/acknowledge to be flawed than the things we love.

It's hard to believe. Where does the times go?' Betty sighs. 'I've always hated that phrase. It makes it would like time went on a holiday, and is expected back any day now. Time flies is another one I hate. Apparently, time does quite a bit of traveling, though.