Quotes About Anger

My brother often complains to me about the 'angry Asian male' in the United States. As a female, I haven't encountered this, but Asian-American men are angry. They're angry because, for so many years, they've been neglected as sex symbols. Asian women have it much easier, I think; we're accepted into various circles.

I have at last admitted that not only was I angry with my mother, but, in fact, I wanted to destroy her as a child. And I was so concerned to be a woman who was different from my mother that I had this vast architecture of rules.

Anger at the wealth gap is no longer about dukes in horse-drawn carriages; it's about vast, tax-dodging corporations. This will not be assuaged by seeing the royal family claiming to live like we do. If anything, that will make us angrier.

The doctor punched my vein, the captain called me Cain, upon my belly sat the sow of fear.

After the scarlet fever and the whooping cough, I remember I started to get mad about it all... I went through the stage of asking myself, 'Wilma, what is this existence all about? Is it about being sick all the time? It can't be.' So I started getting angry about things, fighting back in a new way with a vengeance.

Vengeance is the act of turning anger in on yourself. On the surface it may be directed at someone else, but it is a surefire recipe for arresting emotional recovery.

If you read the history of the national Socialist party, they're all people who felt like life should have been better to them. They're disappointed, vengeful, angry.

I'm a white middle-class public schoolboy so I'm not particularly tough. But it turns out I don't mind going in the cage. I can dig in. And it's interesting watching people spar and train. There's no anger. It's all technique and delivered with venom.

It's easy to hurl abuse at those awards ceremonies like the Oscars and all that, which we tend to do. We tend to vent our anger at things which we feel are unjust or undeserving. But when you're the recipient, it makes it a lot different.

I want things to be better all the time. And I tend to get angry about that. Books are an opportunity to vent.

I grew up on the street, and I found a way to vent my frustrations through fighting.

I vent my anger in the gym, and it calms me down.

Some people can vent their anger, take a breath, and let it go, but I wasn't one of them.

Twelve years ago, if someone attacked me, I wouldn't let them get away with it. I'd take them on. I now perceive my job to include allowing people to vent their rage.

If I'm really angry or upset, you have the ability to use music to vent, like therapy in a way.

We get the papers: I prefer broadsheets because I had the fear of God put into me by the tabloids and, though I'm very much over it, I still don't really like to read them. It's a destructive vernacular that makes me angry and scared, and it is all sensationalist onomatopoeia and alliteration.

I was nowhere, I was floating. I was not surprised, I knew it was the World, the naked World suddenly revealing itself, and I choked with rage at this gross, absurd being.

It was so bad that the Security Department of Major League Baseball, worried about fan anger poststrike, had advised clubs to "avoid any promotions involving giveaways that could be used as a missile.

Getting yelled at by a furious woman should be a semi-formal occasion.

Really, now: If you can't get me my newspaper on time, how can you expect me to refrain from killing people?

getting yelled at by a furious woman should be treated as a semiformal occasion.

Arabelle," Debs was saying. "Arabelle, please listen to me." Arabelle was not listening, and I didn't think my sister's vocal tone of combined anger and authority was well calculated to win over anyone—especially not someone who looked like she had been sent over from a casting office to play the part of a cleaning woman with no green card.

Goddamn it!" she said to me through a mouthful of sandwich. It was certainly far from a novel phrase coming from her, but she said it with a viciousness that left me lightly spattered with bread crumbs. I took a sip of my excellent batido de mamey and waited for her to expand on her argument, but instead she simply said it again. "Goddamn it!

I looked at Anderson. His face was full of anger, venom, dislike for me, and above all, impenetrable stupidity. It was possible that he actually thought I was guilty, or had talked himself into believing it. I didn't think so. "If you say it enough times, you might actually believe it," I say.