The single friend I have that is the most dangerous pain in the nether recesses is the one who most sharpens my mind, attention, curiosity, wonder, and capacity to exceed my previous intelligence. Every time I suggest anything interesting, he attacks it ferociously, with bold, common-sense objections that are almost impossible to overcome. I hate bringing great ideas to him, because he will force me to improve them vastly. He has absolutely no mercy for ideas. None. People? Yes. Positions? Zero. I hate him. This is a kind of hatred one needs in one’s life: the hatred of something that you would otherwise avoid with every effort and desire — yet with which every encounter demands and elicits further developmental excellence within you. This is a strange hatred that often borders upon its opposite. Or beyond.