Quotes About Anger

I will speak daggers to her, but use none.

Turn hell-hound, turn.

As wicked dew as e'er my mother brushed With raven's feather from unwholesom fen Drop on you both! A southwest blow on ye And blister you all o'er!

Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself, And so shall starve with feeding.

His nature is too noble for the world: He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for's power to thunder. His heart's his mouth: What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; And, being angry, does forget that ever He heard the name of Death.

O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn'd, That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!

Thou weedy elf-skinned canker-blossom!

Patience perforce with willful choler meeting/Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting./I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall,/Now seeming sweet, convert to bitt'rest gall.

what? drawn and talk of peace? I hate the word as I hate Hell, all Montagues, and thee

the hate I bear thee can afford no better term then this: thou art a villian.

Zwounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me a coward, by the Lord, I'll stab thee.

Though with their high wrongs I am struck to th' quick, Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury Do I take part.

I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums And dashed the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.

That in the captain's but a choleric word, Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey?

I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you!        Exit

With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord, not with love. Prove that ever I lose more blood with love than I will get again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen and hang me up at the door of a brothel house for the sign of blind Cupid.

Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless

I was not angry since I came to France Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald; Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill: If they will fight with us, bid them come down, Or void the field; they do offend our sight: If they'll do neither, we will come to them, And make them skirr away, as swift as stones Enforced from the old Assyrian slings: Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have, And not a man of them that we shall take Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so.

Though it is a painful fact that most Negroes are hopelessly docile, many of them are filled with fury, and the unctuous coating of flattery which surrounds and encases that fury is but a form of self-preservation.

No, I wasn't trying to make Nat Turner look stupid. I was trying to make him more human. More like me. Angry, impotent, confused about his own sexuality. Wait a minute, that didn't come out right. Is that microphone really on?

You hate men, you've hated Daddy for years, and the sad thing is that he hasn't known it. And the terrible thing is that you hate yourself so much that you just don't hate men or Daddy but you hate everything, animal, vegetable and mineral.

Speak when you are angry and you will make the best speech you will ever regret. —Ambrose Bierce If

Cobey had lost his patience and snapped at the dim-witted giant to shut his pie hole