You neither love nor hate yourself, or other people.

You want nothing on earth enough to make the lack of it disturb you." "How well you read me," said Alice and she smiled a large calm smile as a statue might smile, could she relax her beautiful marble mouth.
"And as for Annie Eustace," said Margaret, "she has what I stole, and she knows it, and that is enough for her.

Oh, both of you look down upon me and I know it." "I look down upon you no more than I have always done," said Alice; but Annie was silent because she could not say that truly.
"Yes, I know you have always looked down upon me, Alice Mendon," said Margaret, "and you never had reason." "I had the reason," said Alice, "that your own deeds have proved true." "You could not know that I would do such a thing.

I did not know it myself.

Why, I never knew that Annie Eustace could write a book." "I knew that a self-lover could do anything and everything to further her own ends," said Alice in her inexorable voice, which yet contained an undertone of pity.
She pitied Margaret far more than Annie could pity her for she had not loved her so much.