Suzanne Collins Quotes

i like to think that im helping them by hating them

I find just as much profit in cultivating my hates as my loves.

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

Hatred is love frustrated.

We don't stop loving people just because we hate them, but we don't stop hating them either.

you can love a person and still hate the decisions they've made, can't you?

It is because I had so much joy that I came to have so much hate.

I hate Sunday, and I don't think I'll ever get over it. But I'm going to try.

People always tell me either A. you love him. B. you hate him. My usual answer? C. All of the above.

You don't stop loving someone just because you hate them.

She was very near hating him now; yet the sound of his voice, the way the light fell on his thin, dark hair, the way he sat and moved and wore his clothes—she was conscious that even these trivial things were inwoven with her deepest life.

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme. I hate it, I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

The neurotic lies awake at night, composing letters to those he hates. He seldom thinks of dropping a line to those he loves.

Can you hate someone for what they have done, but still love them for whom they had been?

Comedy and tragedy are so mixed up in life, Gilbert. The only thing that haunts me is that tale of the two who lived together fifty years and hated each other all that time. I can't believe they really did. Somebody has said that 'hate is only love that has missed its way.' I feel sure that under the hatred they really loved each other . . . just as I really loved you all those years I thought I hated you . . . and I think death would show it to them. I'm glad I found out in life.

She was feeling, thinking, trembling about everything; agitated, happy, miserable, infinitely obliged, absolutely angry.

I didn’t know how I could live with that knowledge, without it eating me up, without it poisoning every happy memory I had of growing up. Without it ruining everything Beck and I had. I didn’t understand how someone could be both God and the devil. How the same person could destroy you and save you. When everything I was, good and bad, was knotted with threads of his making, how was I supposed to know whether to love or hate him?

Twas something else. I had come to hate her, you see. I had come to wish her dead, and that was what held me back.

One can fall in love and still hate.

His love for her was so deeply woven with resentment that he could not untangle the two.

Hatred is the ballast of the rock which lies upon our necks and underfoot.

I've started to kind of hate people, and it's not because I have anything against them. It's just, I enjoy it. It's recreation.

He ["the male"] is trapped in a twilight zone halfway between humans and apes, and is far worse off than apes, because he is, first of all, capable of a large array of negative feelings that the apes aren't - hate, jealousy, contempt, disgust, guilt, shame, disgrace, doubt - and, secondly, he is aware of what he is and isn't.

I'm filled with a new joy mixed with old grief.

I feel that part of my life's artwork is creatively dealing with all this negativity and anger and rage and hatred coming from whatever corners it's coming from and somehow manifesting all of that anger into something positive, which is such a hard job.