He had absolutely nothing to do, almost died of ennui, and became a confirmed misanthrope.
Oscar Wilde. The Picture of Dorian Gray (p. 105).
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And how could he not have turned misanthrope, when in every man he saw a potential lover for Odette?
Marcel Proust. In Search of Lost Time [volume 1]
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with a golden cloud of protection and confidence, dark, misanthropic, pining atheistic doubts, and fierce despair, melted away before the light of a living Gospel, breathed in living faces, preached by a thousand unconscious acts of love and good will, which, like the cup of cold water given in the name of a disciple, shall never lose their reward.