Baruch Spinoza Quotes

Hatreds are the cinders of affection.

Who love too much, hate in the like extreme.

Hatred is a disguised form of love. You can only hate someone whom you really wish to love, because if you were totally indifferent to that person, you could not even get up enough energy to hate him.

Love is both wondrous and yet full of peril. Love is a gateway through which hatred - disguised and unrecognized - can pass.

No one can hate you with more intensity than someone who used to love you.

Stronger than lover's love is lover's hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.

Hatred is so much closer to love than indifference.

Love is the burning point of life, and since all life is sorrowful, so is love. The stronger the love, the more the pain. Love itself is pain, you might say -the pain of being truly alive.

Oh, I have loved him too much to feel no hate for him.

To be in love is not the same as loving. You can be in love with a woman and still hate her.

The only love that feels like love is the doomed kind. (Fun fact.)

Hatred like love feeds on the merest trifles.

A real flame of love is a subtle thing. It burns as a will-o'-the-wisp, dancing onward to fairy lands of delight. It roars as a furnace. Too often jealousy is the quality upon which it feeds.

There was a time when I thought I loved my first wife more than life itself. But now I hate her guts. I do. How do you explain that? What happened to that love? What happened to it, is what I'd like to know. I wish someone could tell me.

Hatred is keener than friendship, less keen than love.

Hot hate is twin brother to hot love.

In that shrinking moment he discovered that he had never hated anyone until now. It was a feeling as pure as love, but dispassionate and icily rational.

I didn't know love felt like this, like turning into brightness.

Love is a fine cushion to rest upon, but only hate can make you a better person.

Life's too short to hate.

it is a curious subject of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love be not the same thing at bottom.

And then she frowned, and shook her head, then put her arms around him once more, pressing her face into his shoulder, making a noise that sounded almost like rage. 'What's up?' he asked. 'Nothing. Oh, nothing. Just...' She looked up at him. 'I thought I'd finally got rid of you.' 'I don't think you can.' he said

Not only are love and hate such closely related emotions, but it's a lot easier to hate someone you've cared about than someone you never have.

Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood; as the Emperors signed their names in green ink when under age, but when of age, in purple.