Quotes About Anger

Instead she violently signed Bite, angry, angry, bite! with both hands right in my face. It was an astonishing and very intimidating performance.

You," he began. "You bastards." Silence. "Where was the FBI these past four days? This was your fault—your fault!" His voice, starting out in a whisper, crescendoed by the end into a roar, spittle flecking his lips.

I feel grief at the waste of myself in those years, anger at the mutilation and manipulation of the relationship between mother and child, which is the great original source and experience of love.

It's true, these last few years I've lived watching myself in the act of loss—the art of losing, Elizabeth Bishop called it, but for me no art only badly-done exercises acts of the heart forced to question its presumptions in this world its mere excitements acts of the body forced to measure all instincts against pain acts of parting trying to let go without giving up yes Elizabeth a city here a village there a sister, comrade, cat and more no art to this but anger

The mail lets fall a Xerox of something written by a man aged 27, a hostage, tortured in prison: My genitals have been the object of such a sadistic display they keep me constantly awake with the pain... Do whatever you can to survive. You know, I think that men love wars... And my incurable anger, my unbendable wounds break open further with ears, I am crying helplessly, and they still control the world, and you are not in my arms.

Necessity for a more unyielding discipline of my life. Recognize the uselessness of blind anger. Limit society. Use children's school hours better, for work & solitude. Refuse to be distracted from own style o flife. Less waste. Be harder & harder on poems.

For in the voyage of the heart, there is a freight of hatred, and the wind of wrath blows shrill.

Chanting aloud in realms below The dead are wroth; Against their slayers yet their ire doth glow.

Words are the parents of a causeless wrath.

No bribes. Nothing that passes under the roof of a temple Or under the roof of the mouth, can appease heaven's anger Or deflect its aim.

It's like all those quiet people, when they do lose their tempers they lose them with a vengeance.

I like to see an angry Englishman," said Poirot. "They are very amusing. The more emotional they feel the less command they have of language.

I demand of you a thousand pardons, monsieur. I am without defence. For some months now I cultivate the marrows. This morning suddenly I enrage myself with these marrows. I send them to promenade themselves - alas! not only mentally but physically. I seize the biggest. I hurl him over the wall. Monsieur, I am ashamed. I prostrate myself.

People with a grudge against the world are always dangerous. They seem to think life owes them something.

I enrage myself with an imbecile. I say, 'I would like to kick him.' Instead I kick the table. I say, 'This table, it is the imbecile, I kick him so.

He felt lost without his hatred–lost and afraid. About Mickey Argyle

You are lucky, Renisenb. You have found the happiness that is inside everybody's own heart. To most women, happiness means coming and going, busied over small affairs. It is care for one's children and laughter and conversation and quarrels with other women and alternate love and anger with a man. It is made up of small things strung together like beads on a string.

Flog this man to death and throw him out in the rubbish heap!

Now you must realize this, Hastings. Everyone is a potential murderer. In everyone there arises from time to time the wish to kill—though not the will to kill. How often have you not felt or heard others say: 'She made me so furious

As pessoas mais caladas e submissas são muitas vezes capazes da violência mais repentina e inesperada, pois quando perdem o controle, elas o perdem por inteiro!

Hate isn't creative." - Stillingfleet

I thought the Chief Constable was going to have apoplexy.

He tailed off into furious profanity.

That's why you often find that the author of anonymous letters is the last person in the place to be suspected. Some quiet inoffensive little soul who apparently can't say Bo to a goose—all sweetness and Christian meekness on the outside—and seething with all the fury of hell underneath!