I would never do crack... I would never do a drug named after a part of my own ass, okay?
I hate birthdays. I thought that I only hated my own birthday, and then I realized that I hate my children's birthdays too.
Beauty pageants in general are foreign and noxious to me: I can barely muster the energy to put on lip gloss and mascara.
Why have a pet hate? Why should it be confined? My hate is both wide ranging and total.
I always think photographs abominable, and I don't like to have them around, particularly not those of persons I know and love. Those photographic portraits wither much sooner than we ourselves do, whereas the painted portrait is a thing which is felt, done with love.
I hate having my hair cut so I try not to.
There was no way I was going to end up in the scrum when I came to rugby - you know, waste my pretty looks.
I cannot bear to look at a film that I made before 1990. Maybe 1985. There's no sense even trying to explain it. I really just can't watch myself. I see all the machinery at work and it just drives me nuts, so I don't look at anything.
I don't really like to watch myself.
I couldn't do country, with all due respect to all country music artists. My parents dressed me up with a cowboy hat and we'd go to the rodeo when I was younger and it traumatized me for life.
There's nothing is this world more instinctively abhorrent to me than finding myself in agreement with my fellow-humans.
I have an issue with dogs - I can't pick up after them. It's nothing personal; it just makes me feel like a servant.
I don't like a lot of things like [Iraq], I never did. Being in a position of celebrity and having your words carry such unnatural weight...I've always been a bit squeamish when it came to that kind of thing.
I like what I like and not what I'm supposed to like because of mass rating. And I very much dislike the things I don't like.
I don't want to go back to Capital Radio. I don't want to go back to rolling in custard with Sheena Easton and Annie Lennox.
Of course he was a part of what I hated about myself. Everything was a part of what I hated about myself. It wasn't really personal.
I avoid any kind of organised trips as that's one of my bugbears.
I don't like people--much. This kind, I mean. And they don't like me at all, as a rule. Maybe the latter explains the former.
When we hate a person, with an intimate, imaginative, human hatred, we enter into his mind, or sympathize -- any strong interest will arouse the imagination and create some sort of sympathy.
I can't help detesting my relations. I suppose it comes from the fact that none of us can stand other people having the same faults as ourselves.
