A Quote by Seal

Packing is my pet hate. — © Seal
Packing is my pet hate.

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Why have a pet hate? Why should it be confined? My hate is both wide ranging and total.
My pet hate, with customers, is those that think it's all about wallets.
I have learnt that I am incapable of packing the right amount of clothing, probably because I start 10 minutes before I'm supposed to leave, and that I truly hate airports.
My pet hate is being beaten by a team who works harder than you do.
The present custom of orthodox Christendom, in packing their sins upon the back of a God, is just the same substantially as that of various heathen nations who were anciently in the habit of packing them upon the backs of various dumb animals.
I hate when people don't keep their word or they are late. Tardiness is a big pet peeve of mine.
Environmentalists hate sprawl - except when it comes to the size of their expansive pet legislation on Capitol Hill.
Ill-fitted T-shirts stretched over a gut are my pet hate. And if the colour's faded - ugh.
Reverse petting zoo. You pet the animals, and they pet you back.
You know what I hate? I hate people who give me plants. The whole giving someone plants - it's like giving someone a pet. I'm giving you responsibility, I'm giving you a thing that you now have to take care of for, like, a year until it dies, and then I'm giving you sadness and guilt.
My worst job was packing animal feed in a warehouse in Gloucestershire when I was a student. It was a very strange environment. It was hung heavy with oat dust, the place was infested with mice, and everyone who worked there was over 60, and I was 18. It was crazy. Apologies to anyone who works in animal-feed packing industry and loves it.
Wanting to be near my bread and butter business which was my hairstyling salon, I have done little touring during my lifetime. I hate all this moving around from hotel to hotel, packing and unpacking. I know many entertainers agree with me on this subject.
Love me or hate me, it's one or the other. Always has been. Hate my game, my swagger. Hate my fadeaway, my hunger. Hate that I'm a veteran. A champion. Hate that. Hate it with all your heart. And hate that I'm loved, for the exact same reasons.
One suggestion is to regard your personality as a pet. It follows you around anyway, so give it a name and make friends with it. Keep it on a leash when you need to, and let it run free when you feel that is appropriate. Train it as well as you can, and then accept its idiosyncrasies, but always remember that your pet is not you. Your pet has its own life, and just happens to be in an intimate relationship with you, whoever you may be, hiding there behind your personality.
Sometimes losing a pet is more painful than losing a human because in the case of the pet, you were not pretending to love it.
I saw myself as a teacher's pet but with a little of Ed Haskell mixed in. I was the teacher's pet, but that didn't mean that I was trying to pull one over.
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