Incompatibility. And besides, I think she hated me.

When she realized what she was doing she snorted in disgust, at herself and at the pervasiveness of politics—how it could infect everything if you let it.

I find my familiarity with thee has bred contempt.

She came into the world fierce and stubborn and then she learned to hate.

She sounded angry. That was the way she'd been as long as he'd known her. If she became ill, it irritated her. She was annoyed by sickness. She seemed to regard it as a personal affront.

I can barely contain my true feeling about you. My true animosity and hatred. Utter disdain. I wouldn't describe it any other way other than pure contempt and utter disdain. Distilled hatred. And it's not a joke. It's completely serious. And I can barely hold it in.

I hate you' she said to me one afternoon. 'I really, really hate you.' Call me sensitive, but I couldn't help but take it personally.

Now she hates me. I have taught her that, at least.

Why, even when I was innocent her hatred of me hurt a good deal. Now that I'm guilty, her belief in me would hurt even more.

Her own contempt for any forms of pressure society might put on her was so profound and instinctive that she as instinctively despised anyone who paid tribute to them.

One evening I sat Beauty on my knees – And I found her bitter – And I reviled her.

Elle se sentait en même temps indignée contre tous ses voisins, et humiliée d'avoir cedé, souillée par les baisers de ce Prussien entre les bras duquel on l'avait hypocritement jetée.

Prejudice and bigotry rot me from within, and the strains of these viruses are hearty and hard to kill.

Familiarity breeds contempt.