Top 1200 Hate Her Quotes & Sayings - Page 4

I hate cutting weight. I hate making weight. I hate dieting. But I'm going to make this weight. I can't wait to do that when I step on them scales.

One can write out of love or hate. Hate tells one a great deal about a person. Love makes one become the person. Love, contrary to legend, is not half as blind, at least for writing purposes, as hate. Love can see the evil and not cease to be love. Hate cannot see the good and remain hate. The writer, writing out of hatred, will, thus, paint a far more partial picture than if he had written out of love.

Eliminate the word HATE and replace it with LOVE. The words: hate, hatred, hating, haters, hate that, hate this...and so forth. Stop people when they say them. Stop people from expressing any of those words in action. Make the word HATE as old as GROOVY. The word LOVE has been proven to be the most beautiful word. Learn to use it and put it into action - any which way you can.

This is making me crazy. I hate relying on other people to save me, I hate being clingy, I hate it, and every time you show up, I lean on you. - Matilda Scarlet Veronica Betty Vilma Goodnight

I hate that you don't have the insight. I hate that you shamelessly returned despite being kicked out. I hate that you don't even seem to have the slightest self-respect. And also the fact that you used San as your "heart-wrenching" excuse to return. Back to this hell-hole.

I hate my body Hate what it remembers. Hate what it let him do.

The search for truth can be compared to a cat chasing her tail: frantic in her pursuit, her quarry nevetheless eludes her; despite the fact that all the world can see it's right there, it remains just beyond her reach. It cannot be possessed because, paradoxically, it is already part of her.

To win a woman in the first place you must please her, then undress her, and then somehow get her clothes back on her, finally, so that she will let you leave her, you've got to antagonise her.

When Layla and I would do promos out in the arena, it was just the most-fun ever! People genuinely hate her.

No bra,” he said against her mouth. “Thank you. I hate those things. Dumbest human invention. Ever.

He'd kill for her, destroy for her, savage anyone who dared attempt to take her from him. And he would never let her go...even if she begged for her freedom.

You can't like everything! You hate some stuff! Say what you hate! Like, I hate Pitbull, and I don't care!

They hate kings, they hate priests, they hate soldiers, they hate sailors. They distrust men of science, they denounce the middle classes, they despair of working men, but they adore humanity. Only they always speak of humanity as if it were a curious foreign nation. They are dividing themselves more and more from men to exalt the strange race of mankind. They are ceasing to be human in the effort to be humane.

She craved a presence beside her, solid. Fingertips light at the nape of her neck and a voice meeting hers in the dark. Someone who would wait with an umbrella to walk her home in the rain, and smile like sunshine when he saw her coming. Who would dance with her on her balcony, keep his promises and know her secrets, and make a tiny world wherever he was, with just her and his arms and his whisper and her trust.

Negrophobes exist. It is not hatred of the Negro, however, that motivates them; they lack the courage for that, or they have lost it. Hate is not inborn; it has to be constantly cultivated, to be brought into being, in conflict with more or less recognized guilt complexes. Hate demands existence and he who hates has to show his hate in appropriate actions and behavior; in a sense, he has to become hate. That is why Americans have substituted discrimination for lynching. Each to his own side of the street.

Tonight love and hate met in St. Louis. And love outnumbered the hate, in poetic thousands. Hate left. But love stayed. + Together, we sang.

Her little fists pummeled at him, and he accepted the abuse. Until he realized she’d made an improper fist and was actually hurting herself. He wound an arm around her waist, spun her and slammed her into the hard line of his body to still her. “Let me go!” “In a minute.” As she struggled, he pulled her thumb out from beneath her fingers and rearranged her fist. “Hit like this.” Done, he released her.

...looking at him makes her feel like laughing all over - as if she could laugh not just with her mouth but with her eyes, her heart, her very limbs.

Best strategy for a first date is to ask her questions. Just keeping asking her questions about herself. Her life, her job, her friends, her taste in movies and music and everything. People mostly just want to talk about themselves, so let her do that.

We love a girl for very different qualities than understanding. We love her for her beauty, her youth, her mirth, her confidingness, her character, with its faults, caprices and God knows what other inexpressible charms; but we do not love her understanding.

The adolescent does not develop her identity and individuality by moving outside her family. She is not triggered by some magic unconscious dynamic whereby she rejects her family in favour of her peers or of a larger society.... She continues to develop in relation to her parents. Her mother continues to have more influence over her than either her father or her friends.

I love that sound,' he mumbled into her hair. 'Blackbirds at dawn.' 'I hate it. Makes me think I've done something I'll regret.

You can't hate your origin and not end up hating yourself. You can't hate Africa and not hate yourself.

I hate talking to media. I hate it, man. You have to. But it's crazy. I thought there were only two things in this world that you had to do, and that was die and pay taxes. Now I know that you've got to talk to media. And I hate it.

None of us wants to admit that we hate someone... When we deny our hate we detour around the crisis of forgiveness. We suppress our spite, make adjustments, and make believe we are too good to be hateful. But the truth is that we do not dare to risk admitting the hate we feel because we do not dare to risk forgiving the person we hate.

I hate fund-raising. Haaaaate it. Hate, hate it.

I used to love hospitals. That's another weird thing about me. I remember when my grandmother -- so sweet, God rest her soul -- was in the hospital, I always loved visiting her there. Very morbid memory! Most people hate hospitals. And I'm not a big fan of them now, but there was something about it for me back then.

Cartooning is preaching. And I think we have a right to do some preaching. I hate shallow humor. I hate shallow religious humor, I hate shallow sports humor, I hate shallowness of any kind.

The principal difference between love and hate is that love is a irradiation, and hate is a concentration. Love makes everything lovely; hate concentrates itself on the object of its hatred.

In struggling for human dignity the oppressed people of the world must not allow themselves to become bitter or indulge in hate campaigns. To retaliate with hate and bitterness would do nothing but intensify the hate in the world. Along the way of life, someone must have sense enough and morality enough to cut off the chain of hate. This can be done only by projecting the ethics of love to the center of our lives.

Most Americans, in their heart, are liberal and progressive. It's just a small minority of people who hate, they hate, they exist in the politics of hate, they don't believe two consenting adults should have the right to be in love and share their lives together and be legally protected by the state.

I hate her." Merlin laughed, tossing the stick down. "Not so. You have forgotten how to love. That's a different sorrow.

I sit on the couch watching her arrange her long red hair before my bedroom mirror. she pulls her hair up and piles it on top of her head- she lets her eyes look at my eyes- then she drops her hair and lets it fall down in front of her face. we go to bed and I hold her speechlessly from the back my arm around her neck I touch her wrists and hands feel up to her elbows no further.

Vanity was stronger than love at sixteen and there was no room in her hot heart now for anything but hate.

Of all hatreds that the world produces, a wife's hatred for her husband, when she does hate him, is the strongest.

White hate crimes, white hate speech. I still try to claim I wasn't brought up to hate. But hate isn't the half of it. I grew up in the vast encircling presumption of whiteness - that primary quality of being which knows itself, its passions, only against an otherness that has to be dehumanized. I grew up in white silence that was utterly obsessional. Race was the theme whatever the topic.

Diana Ross is a big inspiration to all of us. We all grew up watching everything about her - her mike placement, her grace, her style and her class.

Nobody, she felt, understood her-not her mother, not her father, not her sister or brother, none of the girls or boys at school, nadie - except her man.

I hate the term 'arm candy.' But, look, a woman's figure is a beautiful thing, and if she has shapely legs, then she should show them off, because men love to see that. Not just heterosexual men - gay men like to see a woman in her beauty and the shape of her.

Who I believed myself to be was a hopeless case. I would wake up in the mornings and notice I was still alive and breathing and hate God, hate myself, hate life, and contemplate ways of killing myself.

She had sacrificed her childhood to save her brothers; she loved her family above all else, and her spirits yearned to return home once more, to the wild forest and the land of mystic tales and ancient spirits whence he had taken her. That was the place of her heart, and if he loved her, he must let her go.

My mum is a fashion inspiration to me. She always goes to great lengths to get ready in the morning, from her hair to her makeup to her nails, and matching her suit with her shoes.

Jump way back to one time, Evie and me did this fashion shoot in a junk yard, in a slaughterhouse, in a mortuary. We'd go anywhere to look good by comparison, and what I realize is mostly what I hate about Evie is the fact that she's so vain and stupid and needy. But what I hate most is how she's just like me. What I really hate is me so I hate pretty much everybody.

I hate rarely, though when I hate, I hate murderously.

Hate doesn't end hate. Love ends hate.

The Eucharist had so powerful an attraction for the Blessed Virgin that she could not live away from It. She lived in It and by It. She passed her days and her nights at the feet of her Divine Son... Her love for her hidden God shone in her countenance and communicated its ardor to all about her.

Hate Story' is about power of women and I feel her bare back poster with a gun justifies it.

I bought Jayne Mansfield's mansion in L.A. after her death. I had met her in England and remembered her perfume. When I moved in, I could smell her, and I saw her apparition.

Misanthropy is born, I think, out of an almost oppressive sense of loneliness, a conviction that there's no one on earth who understands you. I don't think misanthropes hate people: They hate that people hate them.

I hate women, hate them generally, not in particular but in an abstract way. I hate them because one never really learns anything about them. They are inscrutable.

Some hate broccoli, some hate bacon I hate having my picture taken. How can your family claim to love you And then demand a picture of you?

Beatrice loves her glamorous dresses and her hair being curly or big - like Mummy's - and I hate volume. I like my hair to be sort of flat. I like just throwing on a pair of jeans and generally being more understated. She is more 'Let's do the glamour.' We're chalk and cheese.

Those who have experienced the most, have suffered so much that they have ceased to hate. Hate is more for those with a slightly guilty conscience, and who by chewing on old hate in times of peace wish to demonstrate how great they were during the war.

I don't want to describe the hate mail we've gotten. On why she was fearful of her husband running for president.

In an interview, Paris Hilton said that of her and her sister, "People love to hate us. But when you know us, you love us. And if you really get to know us, you get gonorrhea."

Her heartbeat was in her hands, her heart beat the way she moved her head, her whole body was her heart beating.

Her dignity consists in being unknown to the world; her glory is in the esteem of her husband; her pleasures in the happiness of her family.

I think the hardest thing in life is to forgive. Hate is self destructive. If you hate somebody, you're not hurting the person you hate, you're hurting yourself. It's a healing, actually, it's a real healing...forgiveness.

You can think what you like of Madonna - about her political choices and her PR - but you have to respect her courage not to let the critics stop her exploring her potential.

Moving between her thighs, he stretched out above her, then thrust into her. Once. Because, as he did everything, he acted without hesitation or apology to claim her entirely. Her eyes went wide and her breath caught. Holding her gaze, he pressed himself deeper, barely easing back before pressing deep again.