You want examples of hate.. here is one.

The fields are turning again, turning gold, turning golden, and the hope is rising up, rising for the sun, peering from the mountain now.

Sometimes its wise to play weak.

We are reaching for something, as to what, maybe not determined, not so fast, the dice keep rolling yet again, and fairly soon some news is arriving, the valley is stretched out before you, and a trail is forming.

Turning the harsh and boring world into a form of dream that produces drama and conflict like you have never experienced before. THIS IS FICTIONS.