I knew a Buddhist once, and I've hated myself ever since. The whole thing was a failure.

Who taught you to hate yourself?

Apathy robbed me of the strength even to despise myself.

I hate him for himself, but despise him for the memories he revives.

I lost all respect for him and myself, and lived in a nightmare.

I lost all respect for him and myself, and lived in a nightmare.

I hated you because you reminded me of...how I once was...of what I lost.

I hate myself for loving you and the weakness that it showed. You were just a painted face on a trip down to suicide road.

I hated myself. I had created nothing, I belonged to nothingness, to the néant, and it seemed to me that my own death was the only thing that I could create; and still, even then, I thought it might accuse everyone who had ever known me. It would validate all my cynicism, it would prove all my solitary selfishness; it would stand, and be remembered, as a final dark victory.

Incompatibility. And besides, I think she hated me.

"I have now learnt to despise you," he said. "You refused an honest prince; you did not appreciate the rose and the nightingale; but you did not mind kissing a swineherd for his toys; you have no one but yourself to blame!"

I have been characterised as a self-hating attention-seeker and directed to commit suicide.

I hate myself so much I want to stick a knife in my heart.

"To one's enemies: "I hate myself more than you ever could.