Quotes About Anger

Good-bye, Da. Go to hell. I hope I'm not there waiting.

I've thought about it," she said. "And I'm angry, Shane. I'm really angry. After everything we've done, everything we've risked, we're expendable. And it hurts. Believe me.

You, Monica said, leaning over her, really pissed me off, fish. I don't forget things like that. Neither does my boyfriend. Brandon? Claire wheezed. Jeez, at least get one with a pulse!

Anger is as poisonous as arsenic, and it rots you from the bones out.

hate has a life of its own.

Without forgiveness there is never any peace… My son gave his life. I wont reply to his gift with anger, not even for those who took it from me… How can hating them heal me?

My anger is a shield. My anger is a weapon.

I kind of hate Nick right now, too, but there's someone else higher on my list, someone I hate more than Saddam Hussein and any asshole named Bush combined, hate more than that fuckhead who canceled 'My So-Called Life' and left me with a too-small boxed DVD set that does not answer the questions whether Angela and Jordan Catalano did it, or if Patty and Graham got a divorce, or if there really was something to all that lesbian subtext between Rayanne and Sharon.

These humans—they are cruel monsters. Liars. Deceitful. For the first time, I want to hurt them the way they hurt me. This is so unfair. My body feels numb, my energy spent, my mind deceived and angry.

She murmured, in that particular Nancy way of hers that grates most when my inner bitch is aching to be let loose, 'Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.' My eyes popped open to see her lemon face standing over me. 'SOMEONE,' I hissed, 'HASN'T EVEN WOKEN UP YET. GOD, WHAT IS YOUR ANEURYSM? CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?

From behind I don't see Caroline but I do that stupid bitch, Tris, rhymes with bris, cuz that's what she'll do to a guy, rip apart his piece.

Fuck her. Fuck her for getting in that cab. Fuck her for fucking with my mind. Fuck her for not knowing what she wants. Fuck her for dragging me into it. Fuck her for being such a fantastic kisser. Fuck her for ruining my favorite band. Fuck her for barely saying a word to me before she left. Fuck her for not waving. Fuck her for getting my hopes up. Fuck her for making my hopes useless. Fuck her for taking off with my fucking jacket. Fuck me.

Yet what does harm," she said, "is not what truly merits a man's anger, but what he seizes on instead.

he no longer had enough faith in anger's utility to pursue its course.

Her spirit could not be bent, yet her rage found little purchase . . .

you'd have understood how easily the blade of spite turns in one's hands, and cuts one's own palms.

Can you imagine, Lizabeta chided me for my anger? I, who was nursed on her sorrow. Yet she said she'd not succeeded with me—for she'd hoped to teach me to despise a prison, be it made at the hand of the Inquisition or by my own heart.

My mother was so angered by love's failures, Mary, that she navigated with spite as her compass.

Something about him, it was true, did seem to make certain people angry. Certain women. He generally found it amusing.

Most of this world's misery is the fruit not as priests tell us of wickedness, but of stupidity.... And we know that of all stupidities he considered anger the most deplorable.

Keep in mind the roots of violence: Lust, envy, anger, avarice, and vengeance...the taproot...the killer's ultimate and truest motivation...is the hatred of truth...the hatred of truth is a vice. From it comes pride and an enthusiasm for disorder.

I often resorted: buckets, brooms, garden rakes, Granny Smith apples, cats that when thrown will reliably take out their fury not on the thrower but instead on the person at whom they're thrown. I didn't like throwing cats or animals of any kind, as far as that goes, but every once in a while, in a life-and-death situation, there was nothing to be done but grab a cat and throw it, or an angry ferret.

anger harms no one more than he who harbors it. That both bitterness and true happiness are choices that we make, not conditions that fall upon us from the hands of fate. That peace is to be found in the acceptance of things that we are unable to change. That friends and family are the blood of life, and that the purpose of existence is caring, commitment.

Hatred and anger are only scars upon a beach, while love is the rolling surf that ceaselessly smooths the sand.