Quotes About Anger

The acid of fury ran through him, eating away the brute patience and sluggishness that had made a cipher of Gully Foyle, precipitating a chain of reactions that would make an infernal machine of Gully Foyle. He was dedicated.

The damnable frustration of revenge. Revenge is for dreams…never for reality.

Helplessness and anger make for predictable behavior: Children are certain to shove each other and pull hair, teenagers will call each other names and cry, and grown women who are sisters will say words so cruel that each syllable will take on the form of a snake, although such a snake often circles in on itself to eat its own tail once the words are said aloud.

Fuck you," Sally says. She tosses the words off, easy as butter in her mouth, but in fact she doesn't think she's ever cursed out loud in her own house before. "Fuck you twice," Gillian says. "You need it more.

Bespomo?nost i gnjev izazivaju predvidljivo ponašanje: djeca se naguravaju i potežu za kosu, tinejdžeri se nazivaju pogrdnim nazivima i pla?u, a odrasle žene koje su sestre izgovorit ?e si rije?i tako okrutne da ?e svaki slog poprimiti oblik zmije, iako se takva zmija ?esto smota oko sebe i ugrize za vlastiti rep, jednom kad se rije?i glasno izgovore.

To carry such vengeful thoughts was a heavy burden

and behind them came the women, and then the children with sticks and stones in their hands. There was a line of fury on the ground, slithering forth. Someone

The imperfect were often angry

I had swallowed my share of bitterness, but a portion had stuck in my throat and turned to rage.

That night when he came to claim her, he stood on the short lawn before her house, his knees bent, his fists driven into his thighs, and bellowed her name with such passion that even the friends who surrounded him, who had come to support him, to drag her from the house, to murder her family if they had to

The automatic, natural contact with his own emotions and needs gives an individual strength and self-esteem. He may experience his feelings—sadness, despair, or the need for help—without fear of making the mother insecure. He can allow himself to be afraid when he is threatened, angry when his wishes are not fulfilled. He knows not only what he does not want but also what he wants and is able to express his wants, irrespective of whether he will be loved or hated for it.

The greatest cruelty that can be inflicted on children is to refuse to let them express their anger and suffering except at the risk of losing their parents' love and affection.

If Bob had been able as a child to express his disappointment with his mother—to experience his rage and anger—he could have stayed fully alive. But that would have led to the loss of his mother's love, and that, for a child, can mean the same as death. So he "killed" his anger, and with it a part of himself, in order to preserve the love of his mother.

The truth is that as soon as I feel well, you destroy everything until I feel bad again, because the life that gives me relief provokes you to anger…. But it is saddening that I cannot have your affection and my health at the same time."6 The

AS A CHILD I had to learn to suppress my entirely natural responses to the injuries inflicted on me, responses like rage, anger, pain, and fear.

To me, blindness is the fear of facts—facts that may cause us anger. But it is precisely the experience and expression of justifiable anger that gives us the courage to go forward.

We only hate as long as we feel totally powerless.

Dorothy," said my mother, shifting gears with an angry little spurt, and we cleared the top of the hill

Fucking bastards are simple by nature.

I've found, in my own writing, that a little hatred, keenly directed, is a useful thing.

No one escapes a time in life when the arrow of sorrow, of anger, of despair pierces the heart. For many of us, there is the inevitable need to circle the wound. It is often such a surprise to find it there, in us, when we had assumed arrows so painful only landed in the hearts of other people. Some of us spend decades screaming at the archer. Or at least for longer periods than are good for us. How to take the arrow out of the heart? How to learn to relieve our own pain? That is the question.

Can you handle it? ast Shug. How I'm gon keep from killing him, I say.

I look in his eyes and I see he feeling scared of me. Well, good, I think. Let him feel what I felt.

Although I'm good at enumerating my father's flaws, it's hard for me to sustain much anger at him. I expect this is partly because he's dead, and partly because the bar is lower for fathers than for mothers.