Victor Hugo Quotes

I hate the human race. Of course, therefore, I hate myself the most, because I am the least of the human race.

One thing that I've struggled with has been a certain amount of animosity toward the whole human race.

I am a poor hater.

My hates have always occupied my mind much more actively and have given greater spiritual satisfactions than my friendships.

My hatred gives me strength.

A man's hatred is always concentrated upon that which makes him conscious of his bad qualities.

People throw rocks at things that shine.

Hatred is always self hatred, and there is something suicidal about it.

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.

I warn you all, hatred is finding fertile soil within me. And in your compassion, in your every good intention, you nurture it.

Still, I hate them. But, of course, I hate almost everybody now. Myself more than anyone.

No man hates God without first hating himself.

The angry man wishes the object of his anger to suffer in return; hatred wishes its object not to exist.

Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them.

Hatred, jealousy, and fear hinder peace of mind. When you're angry or unforgiving, for example, your mental suffering is constant. It is better to forgive than to spoil your peace of mind with ill feelings.

Spite is a little word, but it represents as strange a jumble of feelings and compound of discords, as any polysyllable in the language.

The self-hatred that destroys is the waste of unfulfilled promise.

Spite is never lonely; envy always tags along.

Hatred is active displeasure, envy passive. We need not wonder that envy turns to soon to hatred.

Hatred makes me energetic, but confused.

The time you spend hating on someone robs you of your own time. You are literally hating on yourself and you don't even realize it.

Envy is more incapable of reconciliation than hatred is.

This is not the person I wanted to become: Hatred has carved a permanent place inside me, a hollow where things are so easily lost.

What do you get out of hating people, out of having this bitterness in your heart always?

Resentment slowly poisoned my blood and I laughed at myself and my absurd hopes.