Long ago I read something that questioned why we get so angry (or whatever emotion) that we kill insects like that so easily. Why end its life? I don't remember

Long ago I read something that questioned why we get so angry (or whatever emotion) that we kill insects like that so easily. Why end its life? I don't remember where I read it, but decades later I still think of that whenever I either kill a bug or think of killing one. I'm not claiming to be a saint or anything, and I'll still go on a rampage with a fly-swatter. Last night I was sitting outside reading, and something touched my skin in the wrong way I guess, and I instinctively looked around and reached down and smashed it, like in a split second. It was a millimeter long green baby grasshopper-looking thing. I was alone, but I apologized (to nobody) for killing it.