Quotes About Conflict

It's possible to fight intolerance, stupidity and fanaticism when they come separately. When you get all three together it's probably wiser to get out, if only to preserve your sanity.

And she hated him—perhaps the more so because there was no reason for her hatred. Quite the contrary. She was the one who had wronged him . . . His own dislike was a result of what she had done to him. And she knew now that the way she had justified her behavior all those years ago had been all wrong. There had been no justification.

The passion in his face might have been love, might have been hate, might have been both.

She did love him. She always had, even when she had hated him most.

They always quarreled bitterly when they were alone together—or they made love.

No, she must not begin to doubt. She hated him. She hated him because he had brought turmoil into her life again. And emotion. And bitter regret for all that might have been. She hated him.

She was finding it increasingly painful to hate him.

Go now, he said harshly, before I forget that there can never be anything but enmity between you and me.

Good God, why had someone not told him? Why had Harry not mentioned it? Oh, by the way, my sister is remaining here indefinitely to ruin our peace.

But he suppressed the thought. It could bring no peace at all, but only shatter it.

And her heart turned over at sight of Hetherington. It should get easier as time went on to face him calmly, she reasoned as she resumed her sewing. Instead, it was getting worse.

I do not know what happened, Beth, she cried, but I do know it must have been something dreadful. You are both such dear people, and I know something quite extraordinary must have driven you apart.

Elizabeth again found it difficult to reconcile that memory of a tender, loving Robert with the afternoon's encounter with the cold, unfeeling Marquess of Hetherington.

It seems almost as if you want me to reject you. As if you wish to be saved from yourself.

Oh, how helpless women were. All they could do was nurture those people within the small confines of their world. But who knew? Perhaps nurturing was ultimately as important as anything else. Look where the wars waged by men had got the world. Into ever more wars and conflicts—that was where.

He spends his time quarreling with her when they are together, and giving off sparks of jealousy when she talks to someone else.

He could not do it. It was as simple as that. He had known it there at the castle as he held her in his arms, his head bent back against the stone pillar, his body aching and aching for her. He could not do it. She had done nothing to deserve him and the kind of destruction he could bring into her life.

It is said, you know, that hatred is very akin to love. There is too much to dislike, he told her. There are too many irritants. There is too much bitterness and lack of trust. There is too much— Passion? she suggested.

By what right had he come back here to torment her again when she had won a hard-fought battle with her own feelings?

He had not forgiven her and doubted that he ever would or could. And during his own brief visit to her and the meeting at last evening's ball she had shown no sign of wishing forgiveness.

And kissing her and holding her with a desperate tenderness and self-loathing when it was all over again.

If Piers was much longer, she would throttle him. If he failed altogether to put in an appearance, she would borrow a dueling pistol and shoot him.

Remove your hands from me, my lord, she said calmly. I have nothing to say to you, now or ever. I had never thought to hate anyone. But I believe I do hate you.

Past colliding with present promised disaster.