词汇：hated

相关场景

They put him in a veteran's home, but he hated it, so I told my dad that we'd take him.
>> 闻香识女人Scent of a Woman 1992 Movie Script
The hated it. They hated me.
>> Spider-Man 3 蜘蛛侠 3 Movie Script
Yeah. Casey, I've always hated you because you were a prick in college and you are a prick today!
>> The Big Short大空头（2015） Movie Script
My father hated foundations.
>> The Godfather: Part III 教父 3 1990 Movie Script
CONNIE:
I hated you for so long, Michael; for so many years. I think I did things to myself, to hurt myself, so that you would know -- and you would be hurt too. But I understand you now; I think I do. You were being strong for all of us, like Papa was. And I forgive you, and want to be close to you now. Can't you forgive Fredo; he's so sweet, and helpless without you.
>> The Godfather: Part II 教父2 1974 Movie Script
PENTANGELI:
Clemenza promised them nothing, he hated the sonsuvbitches.
>> The Godfather: Part II 教父2 1974 Movie Script
l used to think l hated the country.
>> 1900 Movie Script
L-- You know, I meant to reach out when I heard you were doing this, but I-- I thought you hated alumni events.
>> 公正裁决 Equity (2016) Movie Script
Clara immediately offered Dish a job—it was a hard winter and they were always behind. The colts would start coming soon, and they would be farther behind, so of course it was only sensible to hire another man, but July hated it. He had grown used to working with Clara and Cholo, and he had a hard time adjusting to Dish. Part of it was that Dish was twice as competent with horses as he was himself, and everyone immediately recognized Dish’s value. Clara was soon asking Dish to do things with the horses that she had once let July do. July was more and more left with the kind of chores that a boy could handle.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Yet he hated waiting almost as much as he hated the traveling. His habit had been to go and meet whatever needed to be met, not to wait idly for what might approach.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Two hours after sunup the next day, Dish Boggett, who had been sent off to do a little scouting, thought he saw a figure, far to the north. At first he couldn’t tell if it was a man or an antelope. If it was a man, it was an Indian, he imagined, and he raced back to the herd and got the Captain, who had been shoeing the mare—always an arduous task. She hated anyone to handle her feet and had to be securely snubbed before she would submit to it.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“It’s a soggy situation, I admit,” Augustus said, as if reading Pea Eye’s thoughts. “But it ain’t fatal yet. I could hold out here for a few days. Call could make it back to this creek in one ride on that feisty mare of his. Best thing for you to do would be just to travel at night. If you walk around in the daytime, some of these red boys might spot you and you’d have about the chance of a rabbit. I guess you could make it to the Yellowstone in three nights, though, and they ought to be there by then.” Pea Eye dreaded the prospect. He hated night travel, and it would be worse afoot. He began to hope that maybe the rainhad discouraged the Indians, but that hope only lasted an hour. Three times during the day the Indians fired on them.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Cut,” he said to Pea. “Pretend I’m snake-bit.” Pea went white. He hated even looking at wounds. The thought of cutting Gus made him want to be sick, but the fact that he had a sharp knife helped. He barely touched the skin and the cut was made. The bloody tip of the arrow pokedthrough. Gus shoved the tip on out and then fainted. Pea Eye had to pull the arrow on through. It was as hard as pulling a bolt out of a board, but he got it out.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Even then, it was all they could do to throw the bull, and it took Po Campo over two hours to sew the huge flap of skin back in place. When it was necessary to turn the bull from one side to another, it took virtually the whole crew, plus five horses and ropes, to keep him from getting up again. Then, when the bull did roll, he nearly rolled on Needle Nelson, who hated him anyway and didn’t approve of all the doctoring. When the bull nearly rolled on him Needle retreated to the wagon and refused to come near him again. “I was rooting for the bear,” he said. “A bull like that is going to get somebody sooner or later, and it might be me.” The next day the bull was so sore he could barely hobble, and Call feared the doctoring had been in vain. The bull fell so far behind the herd that they decided to leave him. He fell several miles behind in the course of the day. Call kept looking back, expecting to see buzzards in the sky—if the bull finally dropped, they would feast.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Here, take him, I just helping him up,” he said. Only then he saw it was too late—the young man couldn’t stop coming and couldn’t stop hating, either. His eyes were wild with hatred. Deets felt a deep regret that he should be hated so by this thin boy when he meant no harm. He tried to sidestep, hoping to gain a moment so he could set the baby down and wrestle with the Indian and maybe calm him.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Call helped Lippy and the cook tie down everything on the wagon. Lippy, who hated wind, looked frightened; Po Campo said nothing.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Po Campo hated to leave the river. The morning they left it he lingered behind so long with the wagon that the herd was completely out of sight. Lippy, who rode on the wagon, found this fact alarming. After all, they were in Indian country, and there was nothing to keep a few Indians from nipping in and taking their scalps.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“My lord, Gus,” Dish said, as he watched the Captain leave. Like the others, he was awed by the fury he had seen erupt in the Captain. He had seen men fight many times, but not like that. Though he himself hated Dixon, it was still disturbing to see him destroyed—not even with a gun, either.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“I think it must be a fine gift, singing,” he said. “If I could sing like the Irishman, I would just ride around singing all day. I might get a job in a barroom, like Lippy used to have.” Lorena didn’t want to talk to him. She hated the way she felt. Better if something happens and kills us both, she thought.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Sick to your stomach?” he said. “That’s natural. We’ll try soup.” He tried soup and she spat that out too for a day, but she was too weak to fight the doctor, who was almost as patient as Zwey. They kept her jailed with their patience, when all she wanted to do was die. Dee was gone, after she had come such a way and found him. She hated Zwey and Luke for bringing her to the doctor—surely she would have died right on the street if they hadn’t. The last thing she wanted to do was get well and have to live—but days passed, and the doctor sat in the little chair, feeding her soup, and Zwey stared in the window, even though she wouldn’t look.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
July had no reason to think that Elmira was sick, but he had so much worry that he hated every delay. Fortunately the new horse was strong, a good traveler. July pushed him hard, taking his own rest when he felt the horse needed it. He watched the horse closely, knowing that he couldn’t afford to lose him. He only had two dollars left, plus some coffee, bacon and his rifle. He hoped to kill an antelope, but could not hit one. Mostly he lived on bacon.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
With that fact went another: he wasn’t likely to get another horse unless he went back to Dodge. North of him there was only the plains, until he came to the Platte River—a long walk. July hated to double back on himself, but he had no choice.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
And the thing she wanted most to do was plant flowers—flowers that might bloom in the light. She did plant them, ordering bulbs and seeds from the East. The light brought them up, and then the wind tore them from her. Worse than the dirt she hated the wind. The dirt she could hold her own with, sweeping it away each morning, but the wind was endless and fierce. It renewed itself again and again, curling out of the north to take her flowers from her, petal by petal, until nothing remained but the sad stalks. Clara kept on planting anyway, hiding the flowers in the most protected spots she could find. The wind always found them too, in time, but sometimes the blooms lasted a few days before the petals were blown away. It was a battle she wouldn’t give up on: every winter she read seed catalogues with the girls and described to them the flowers they would have when spring came.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Clara had bought the piano with money saved all those years from the sale of her parents’ little business in Texas. She had never let Bob use the money—another bone of contention between them. She wanted it for her children, so when the time came they could be sent away to school and not have to spend their whole youth in such a raw, lonely place. The first of the money she spent was on the two-story frame house they had built three years before, after nearly fifteen years of life in the sod house Bob had dug for her on a slope above the Platte. Clara had always hated the sod house—hated the dirt that seeped down on her bedclothes, year after year. It was dust that caused her firstborn, Jim, to cough virtually from his birth until he died a year later. In the mornings Clara would walk down and wash her hair in the icy waters of the Platte, and yet by supper time, if she happened to scratch her head, her fingernails would fill with dirt that had seeped down during the day. For some reason, no matter where she moved her bed, the roof would trickle dirt right onto it. She tacked muslin, and finally canvas, on the ceiling over the bed but nothing stopped the dirt for long. It sifted through. It seemed to her that all her children had been conceived in dust clouds, dust rising from the bedclothes or sifting down from the ceiling. Centipedes and other bugs loved the roof; day after day they crawled down the walls, to end up in her stewpots or her skillets or the trunks where she stored her clothes.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“That wagon won’t be here for an hour,” Clara said. “Go see about your pa. His fever comes up in the afternoon. Wet a rag and wipe his face.” Both girls stood looking at her silently. They hated to go into the sickroom. Both of them had bright-blue eyes, their legacy from Bob, but their hair was like hers and they were built like her, even to the knobby knees. Bob had been kicked in the head by a mustang he was determined to break, against Clara’s advice. She had seen it happen—he had the mare snubbed to a post with a heavy rope and only turned his back on her for a second. But the mare struck with her front feet, quick as a snake. Bob had bent over to pick up another rope and the kick had caught him right back of the ear. The crack had sounded like a shot. The mare pawed him three or four times before Clara could reach him and drag him out of the way, but those blows had been minor. The kick behind the ear had almost killed him. They had been so sure he would die that they even dug the grave, up on the knoll east of the house where their three boys were buried: Jim and Jeff and Johnny, the three deaths Clara felt had turned her heart to stone: she hoped for stone, anyway, for stone wouldn’t suffer from such losses.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇