While love ceaselessly strives toward that which lies at the hiddenmost center, hatred only perceives the topmost surface and perceives it so exclusively that the devil of hatred, despite all his terror-inspiring cruelty, never is entirely free of ridicule and of a somewhat dilettantish aspect. One who hates is a man holding a magnifying-glass, and when he hates someone, he knows precisely that person's surface, from the soles of his feet all the way up to each hair on the hated head. Were one merely to seek information, one should inquire of the man who hates, but if one wishes to know what truly is, one better ask the one who loves.
The world has always gone through periods of madness so as to advance a bit on the road to reason
-Hermann Broch (1886-1951), Austrian novelist. The doctor, in The Spell, ch. 11 (1976; tr. 1987).