A Quote by Wendy Wasserstein

The thing I longed for as a teenager is now an object of neglect and scorn. I've grown to hate my telephone. — © Wendy Wasserstein
The thing I longed for as a teenager is now an object of neglect and scorn. I've grown to hate my telephone.
Every relation to mankind, of hate or scorn or neglect, is full of vexation and torment.
As a teenager, I'd longed to get my driver's license so I could get away from my parents. Then I'd longed to go to college to get away from the people I'd called my friends.
Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.
There are few mortals so insensible that their affections cannot he gained by mildness, their confidence by sincerity, their hatred by scorn or neglect
Now it may seem so far from where we all are It's something we can't neglect It's something I can't neglect Now won't you give some bread to get the starving fed
I hate this fear. I hate this. I hate this world. I hate it that nobody needs me. I don’t own this world. I’ve had enough. It’s not supposed to be my fault. Only now.. Only now that I realized.. I hate this world now, living in this world where ‘promise’, ‘bond’ and ‘eternity’ don’t exist, and living in a world full fo strangers is a very, very scary thing. Scared that there’s no guarantee that I’ll be loved. You can’t be living with people surrounding you forever. You just cant. The world is too scary. - Akito
We can have the final word on hate, neglect, disease and all the other insidious characters that still script their way into our stories...for now, but not forever.
Increasingly, Christianity is the object of scorn and ridicule.
The mind/body connection is like a telephone line - many telephone lines, in fact, teeming with information. Small things like drinking an orange juice with pulp or eating an apple is being received like a telephone call to your genes. Every thought, every thing you eat, every single little thing can tweak your genes activity towards healing.
All affectation; 'tis my perfect scorn; Object of my implacable disgust.
Those who scorn and hate the world and hate themselves miss the point. The point was that there wasn't one. There was no place to go to.
If you are Black or Brown, or a liberal or immigrant or Democrat, or a woman unwilling to quietly submit, then Ailes was the ultimate villain. You were the object of mockery and scorn - sometimes overt, often subtle. You were the thing to be gawked at, pawed at, jeered at, propositioned or feared.
I still have a stammer. I hate it; I loathe and despise it. But it's always there, and I have lots of ways to conceal it. I can conceal it now but I'm not good on the telephone. I get my husband to make dentist appointments. And I hate live radio. Hate it. I really try to avoid it at all costs. But it's always there. Stammerers become skilled at sentence construction and synonyms: we have to be. Faced with a problem word, we need to have instant access to eight others we could use instead - ones we could say without stumbling. I think my stammer is a huge part of my being a writer.
I must, before I die, find some way to say the essential thing that is in me, that I have never said yet -- a thing that is not love or hate or pity or scorn, but the very breath of life, fierce and coming from far away, bringing into human life the vastness and the fearful passionless force of non-human things.
I used to hate looking in the mirror. I've grown up into myself and now I'm happy with the way I look.
Yesterday one has wished, to-day one attains the madly longed-for object, and to-morrow one will blush to think that one ever desired it.
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