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Those sharp, black things... I think they look like hatreds. Doubt will cling to you, slow you down, drain the life from you... Lies will make it hard to see the truth. But hatreds... hate is supposed to develop slowly, from a seed or a multitude of them. But when hate is combined with passion, it strikes straight for the heart. A little girl knows not how to hate, nor how to be hated- not truly. The hatreds of children are shallow, silly things. True hate is the realm of adults.
... No, it's not really good Spanish. It's Latin. You know, one of the languages that's the root for most of the others?