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A few weeks later, I’m in a fluorescent-lit classroom in Chelsea awaiting the start of the official Mensa test. I’m sitting next to a guy who’s doing a series of elaborate neck stretches, like we’re about to engage in a vigorous rugby match. He’s neatly laid out four types of gum on his Formica desk: Juicy Fruit, Wrigley Spearmint, Big Red, and Eclipse. I hate this guy. I hope to God he’s not a genius.
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This filthy twentieth century. I hate its guts.
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Oh, wonderful. I killed his father. He hates me. He knows how to make bombs. Come on, Wedge, how does this story end?
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Toby Zeigler: There's literally no one in the world I don't hate right now.
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I think Islam has been hijacked by the idea that all Muslims are terrorists; that Islam is about hate, about war, about jihad - I think that hijacks the spirituality and beauty that exists within Islam. I believe in allowing Islam to be seen in context and in its entirety and being judged on what it really is, not what you think it is.
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I really hate it when I can’t score runs from a ball.
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But I don't fit. Your family hates me. I make your life difficult." That's where she was wrong. "No, You're my family. And as for making my life difficult, you, Blaire Wynn, make my life complete.
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I know you love her. I’ve never seen you act this crazed in your life. I get that. But Nan hates her. If you love Blaire then protect her from the venom that is dripping from your sister’s fangs. Or I will.
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I love the saliheen (pious people) even though I’m not one of them, and I hate the taliheen (evil people) even though I (may be) worse than them.
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I hate to complain...No one is without difficulties, whether in high or low life, and every person knows best where their own shoe pinches.
