Quote by Cyril Connolly
Hate is the consequence of fear we fear something before we hate i

Hate is the consequence of fear we fear something before we hate it a child who fears noises becomes a man who hates noise. – Cyril Connolly

Other quotes by Cyril Connolly

The artist one day falls through a hole in the brambles, and from that moment he is following the dark rapids of an underground river which may sometimes flow so near to the surface that the laughing picnic parties are heard above. – Cyril Connolly

Category:
Art
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In the sex war, thoughtlessness is the weapon of the male, vindictiveness of the female. – Cyril Connolly

Category:
War
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Other Quotes from
Fear
category

The results of political changes are hardly ever those which their friends hope or their foes fear. – Thomas Huxley

Category:
Fear

A writer of fiction lives in fear. Each new day demands new ideas and he can never be sure whether he is going to come up with them or not. – Roald Dahl

Category:
Fear

In a World where people are surrounded by darkness, ignorance and fear, it is a sign of hope to be celebrating Islams message of peace and light, and the last great Messenger, born and chosen to deliver them to all mankind. – Cat Stevens

Category:
Fear

I have no doubt that given a real choice, the vast majority of Muslims and Arabs, like everyone else will choose a free society over a fear society. – Natan Sharansky

Category:
Fear

Random Quotes

Of course there are regrets. I shall regret always that I found my own authentic voice in politics. I was too conservative, too conventional. Too safe, too often. Too defensive. Too reactive. Later, too often on the back foot. – John Major

Category:
Politics

Cheerfulness is what greases the axles of the world. Don’t go through life creaking. – H.W. Byles

Category:
Happiness

I was worried about my mom more than I was worried about the president. And then I was worried about the president, and then I was worried about myself. – Monica Lewinsky

Category:
mom

The meagre lighthouse all in white, haunting the seaboard, as if it were the ghost of an edifice that had once had colour and rotundity, dripped melancholy tears after its late buffeting by the waves. – Charles Dickens, Little Dorrit

Category:
Ghosts