Spite is a little word; but it represents as strange a jumble of feelings, and compound of discords, as any polysyllable in the language.” (Charles Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby (1839)
I sometimes wonder if I am, at heart, a spiteful man. I do not mean that I am an insidious mischief maker who delights in doing harm. While I am not above feeling (or even wishing for) schadenfreude, I generally leave the comeuppance of my enemies to fate. And I do not mean that I am given to backbiting or defamation. I abhor slander, if only because it suggests the envy of a scheming squirt.
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