मैं अक्सर सोचा करता हूँ ,जाने कितना प्यार लगा होगा इतनी नफ़रत के लिये

The problem with people that ignore people they dislike is they can’t ignore them. Anger carries a person in your mind forever, whether you choose to speak to them or not. Therefore, don’t mistake prosperity or accomplishments as resolution. You can’t escape what you will not deal with. The day you can stand in the room with someone and not be affected is the day you truly moved on.

I think it doesn’t matter if you or I or anybody else thinks homosexuality is a sin. It doesn’t matter if you or I think anything is a sin. It doesn’t matter if homosexuality is a sin or not. In fact, it doesn’t matter if anything anybody else does is a sin or not.Because sin is a very personal thing! It always has been and it always will be!And it has nothing to do with love.

Whether it's men, women—it doesn't really matter. The human race is filled with passion and lust. And to coin terms like heterosexuality, homosexuality or even bisexuality makes no sense to me. You are human. You love who you love. You fuck who you fuck. That should be enough—no labels. No stigmas. Nothing. Just be to be.But life isn't that kind. People will always find things to hate.

But the shouts and smell of smoke had a powerful effect on me. I don't say they excited me, but they gave a sort of universality to what I was feeling. I am who I am because I am not them - well, I was not alone in feeling that. We were all who we were because we were not them. So why did that translate into hate? I don't know, but when everyone's feeling the same thing it can appear to be reasonableness.

It is a curious subject of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love be not the same thing at bottom. Each, in its utmost development, supposes a high degree of intimacy and heart-knowledge; each renders one individual dependent for the food of his affections and spiritual life upon another; each leaves the passionate lover, or the no less passionate hater, forlorn and desolate by the withdrawal of his object.

El odio es una sombra negra y alargada. En muchos casos, ni siquiera quien lo siente sabe de dónde le viene. Es un arma de doble filo. Al mismo tiempo que herimos al contrincante nos herimos a nosotros mismos. Cuanto más grave es la herida que le infligimos, más grave es la nuestra. El odio es muy peligroso. Y, una vez que ha arraigado en nuestro corazón, extirparlo es una tarea titánica.

You're a disaster for us, Clary! You're a mundane, you'll always be one, you'll never be a Shadowhunter! You don't know how to think like we do, think about what's best for everyone-- all you think about is yourself! But there's a war now, or there will be, and I don't have time or the inclination to follow around after you, trying to make sure you don't get us killed! Go home, Clary. Go home!

I’ve been watching you drink,” he says. “Think it’s a good idea to put your liver through this?”“What are you the public service message fairy?”“Just being polite.”“Well I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you, sir, have taken the being polite thing too far. Why don’t you just ask me out already so I can refuse and you can leave me the fuck alone?

عندما يكرهون الناس بمثل هذه القوة فذلك يعني انهم يكرهون شيئا ما في ذواتهم

Hate. The word is thrown around as uselessly and as often as love is, and is used as a means in which to accuse and inflict damage; the weak-in-argument (weak in general) use it to discredit those with whom they disagree rather than dissect the issues for what they really are. I liken it to the predictable ad hominem attack, which is about as transparent as those who so ridiculously claim to know what’s in the heart of another.

Simon hated her for that. Perhaps it was automatic. Her appearance alone made her different from him, and human beings had always feared and hated anyone who was different. Two thousand years of history saw it being repeated over and over, the perpetual struggle of one race, or tribe, or creed, against another... each one thinking they were right, superior, morally justified, or chosen by God. Simon saw himself as normal, Laura as abnormal.

Nothing can describe the withering horror of this. You feel lost, sick at heart before such unmasked hatred, not so much because it threatens you as because it shows humans in such an inhuman light. You see a kind of insanity, something so obscene the very obscenity of it (rather than its threat) terrifies you. It was so new I could not take my eyes from the man's face. I felt like saying: "What in God's name are you doing to yourself?

We both disliked rude rickshwalas, shepu bhaji in any form, group photographs at weddings, lizards, tea that has gone cold, the habit of taking newspaper to the toilet, kissing a boy who'd just smoked a cigarette et cetra. Another list. The things we loved: strong coffee, Matisse, Rumi, summer rain, bathing together, Tom Hanks, rice pancakes, Cafe Sunrise, black-and-white photographs, the first quiet moments after you wake up in the morning.

But I have to say this in defense of humankind: In no matter what era in history, including the Garden of Eden, everybody just got here. And, except for the Garden of Eden, there were already all these games going on that could make you act crazy, even if you weren't crazy to begin with. Some of the crazymaking games going on today are love and hate, liberalism and conservatism, automobiles and credit cards, golf, and girls' basketball.