Hate is a lack of imagination.
When you visualized a man or a woman carefully, you could always begin to feel pity . . . that was a quality God's image carried with it . . . when you saw the lines at the corners of the eyes, the shape of the mouth, how the hair grew, it was impossible to hate. Hate was just a failure of imagination.
All good novelists have bad memories. What you remember comes out as journalism; what you forget goes into the compost of the imagination.
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