“I hate polite conversation. I hate it when people stand around and go, 'Hi, how are you?”

“Do you hate people?”

“I don't hate them… I just feel better when they're not around.”

“Already Roland feels his limbs starting to go numb. He swallows hard.
"I hate this. I hate you. I hate all of you."
"I understand.”

“Oh how I hate people!”

“I hate how the people who reallyyou are the ones you can never hold on to for very long. And the ones who don’t understand youstick around.”

“Some people are like "Oh, I hate guitars." How can you hate a guitar? It makes no sense. It's just an instrument.”

“How I hate you. If hate were stone I could build a tower into the clouds.”

“I hate rarely, though when I hate, I hate murderously.”

“I also hate people to ask cheerfully how you are when they know you're feeling like hell and expect you to say "fine”

“I don't understand my feelings. I really don't. I don't understand how I could hate you so much after so much time. How, no matter how much I'd like to not hate you, I hate you even more. It grows.”