The major source of frustration in my life is knowing that I am waiting for an apology that will quite possibly — at times it seems almost certain — never come. And yet I cannot stop waiting. Because it is a thing I want and cannot simply take. One can take vengeance, but one cannot take an apology.
How preferible scorn is to anger: how much more enjoyable to dismiss someone as a fool than only wish one were not so readily hurt by someone one cares for.