“And he hated himself and hated her,too, for the ruin they'd made of each other.”

“I took it back: he didn't just hate himself down deep. He'd made plenty of room in there for me, too.”

“People don't hate each other. They hate each other's ideas.”

“Hate. Huh. He'd never hated himself. If anything, he'd always liked himself a little too much. Once, a human female had even accused him of picturing his own face while he climaxed. He hadn't denied it, either, and next time he'd slept with her, he'd made sure to scream, "Strider" at the pivotal moment." --Strider, keeper of the demon of Defeat--”

“In a train...smash. In his arm her last...breath.' He had loved her. But he hated himself more. Such suffering, so much pain. And he thought it made him hateful. As if suffering was shameful, disgusting, as if pain were a crime. Who can judge another man's suffering?”

“They shouldn't hate each other . . . I don't hate the Socs any more . . . they shouldn't hate . . .”