Ashley Montagu Quotes

People, man, they love hurting people. It's not even fair.

When a person only knows abuse, they shift their whole emotional and spiritual life into the context of that abuse. If all you've ever known is to be hurt by the one that pretends to love you, then many times you go to the one who hurts you for love.

Often and often afterwards, the beloved Aunt would ask me why I had never told anyone how I was being treated. Children tell little more than animals, for what comes to them they accept as eternally established.

We are effectively destroying ourselves by violence masquerading as love.

When people don't like themselves very much, they have to make up for it. The classic bully was actually a victim first.

It is the privilege of those who fear love to murder those who do not fear it!

Narcissist: psychoanalytic term for the person who loves himself more than his analyst; considered to be the manifestation of a dire mental disease whose successful treatment depends on the patient learning to love the analyst more and himself less.

I come from a place where there's violence and inarticulacy. I worked in a pub from the age of 12 or 13. I used to see people smashing glasses over each other. I was never tough. I was scared of them.

I think that the hardest thing about working with young people in foster care who've been through this kind of neglect and abuse is really to convince them that they are worthy of being loved. And I think because often they don't feel worthy of it, that's why they push people away.

Hate breeds violence.

Bullets, beatings and bombings—not bullshit!

Once, in high school, on a field trip away from school, some girls brought razors to shave their legs and threw them at me and told me to kill myself. But they were all insecure. They were angry, snapping at everybody.

For some people, it is easier to command a nation, to send thousands to their deaths in unnecessary wars, to separate children from their families and inflict terrible suffering, than to process their own trauma and pain.

Do all men kill the things they do not love?

Love and hate hold hands always so it made natural sense that they'd get confused by upset married folk in the wee hours once in a while and a nosebleed or bruised breast might result. But it just seemed proof that a great foulness was afoot in the world when a no-strings roll in the hay with a stranger led to chipped teeth or cigarette burns on the wrist.

Multiply your death, divide by sex, add up your violence, what do you get?

The battles, the fights, the bruises, the bites. That's the way true love grows.

Sometimes I nursed starfish alive in jam jars of seawater and watched them grow back lost arms. On this day, this awful birthday of otherness, my rival, somebody else, I flung the starfish against a stone. Let it perish.

Man hurts man, time and time again. As we drown in the wake of our power, somebody tell me why?

Murder and hate are as deeply buried in the human heart as love, perhaps more so, and in truth they're rather entwined, and if you tried to separate them, you'd be missing something important and human.

He lies right at you, you know you hate this game. He slaps you once in a while and you live and love in pain.

You love me. You ignore me. You save my life, then you cook my mother into soap.

People are more afraid to love than they are to kill.

Next time you want to hit me hit me with a baseball bat or a crowbar!

You don't like dealing with somebody who denies horrible things happening to your people or threatens future horrible things to your people.