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I didn't know what hate felt like, not the hate that comes after love.  It's huge and desperate and longs to be proved wrong.  And every day it's proved right it grows a little more monstrous.  If the love was passion, the hate will be obsession.  A need to see the once-loved weak and cowed and beneath pity.  Disgust is close and dignity is far away.  The hate is not only for the once loved, it's for yourself too; how could you ever have loved this?

- Jeanette Winterson, The Passion, p84