Quotes About Anger

Frustrated because I can't tell if it's real. Mad because I don't know how you feel. Upset because we can't make it right. Sad because I need you day and night. Angry because you won't take my hand. Aggravated because you don't understand. Disappointed because we can't be together, but still I'll love you forever, and ever.

Frustrated because I can't tell if it's real. Mad because I don't know how you feel. Upset because we can't make it right. Sad because I need you day and night. Angry because you won't take my hand. Aggravated because you don't understand. Disappointed because we can't be together, but still I'll love you forever.

The more anger towards the past you carry in your heart, the less capable you are of loving in the present.

Is impossible to see your reflection in boiling water. Similarly, you can't see the truths in your life in a state of anger; keep your anger at the level of control.

The truth shall make you free, but first it shall make you angry

We always have a chance to make our life beautiful. But its the anger, ego, jealousy, selfishness which hampers our chance.

Life is worth living, live it with passion, grab all opportunities. Do away with anger as anger is poison, it will eat away your very essential. Do away with fear, fear is awful, face it. Memories are sweet. Cherish them.

I cannot make her leave, but I can hate her.

It had never truly been anger, only fear and sorrow.

Mi exilio podría aplacar la ira de los vivos, pero no la de los difuntos.

I did not tell him the prophecy. I watched him eat and fingered my rage as if it were a knife's point. I wanted to keep it sharp for as long as I could.

The stars turned, and somewhere the moon crept across the sky. When my eyes dragged closed again, he was waiting for me still, covered in blood, his face as pale as bone. Of course he was. No soul wished to be sent early to the endless gloom of our underworld. Exile might satisfy the anger of the living, but it did not appease the dead.

Si chaque soldat ne tuait que les ennemis qui l'ont personnellement offensé, Pelides, il n'y aurait aucune guerre

Don't mind him. His wife's a hellhound bitch, and that would sour anyone's temper. Now, my wife—" "I swear." Diomedes' voice carried back up the length of the ship. "If you finish that sentence, I will throw you over the side and you can swim to Troy.

Esas milésimas de segundo donde se encontraban la línea de nuestras miradas eran el único momento de mi jornada en que yo sentía algo: el súbito vuelco en el estómago, el flujo de la ira. Era como un pez mirando desde el anzuelo.

Do you always make beautiful things for those you are angry with?" "No," he said. "Only you.

But he could tell your father. He might be angry." I said it almost desperately. Soon my skin would grow too warm, and I would no longer be able to think. "So what if he is?" The first time he had said something like this, I had been shocked. That his father might be angry and Achilles would still do as he wished—it was something I did not understand, could barely imagine. It was like a drug to hear him say it. I never tired of it.

Il pensiero che suo padre potesse essere in collera e che tuttavia Achille continuasse a fare ciò che voleva, era una cosa incomprensibile per me, a stento immaginabile. Sentirglielo dire era come una droga. Non ne avevo mai abbastanza.

Those half-seconds, that the line of our gaze connected, were the only moment in my day that I felt anything at all. The sudden swoop of my stomach, the coursing anger. I was like a fish eyeing the hook.

No soul wish to be sent early to the endless gloom of our underworld. Exile might satisfy the anger of the living, but it did not appease the dead.

He regarded me a moment, in silence . "So?" Something in the way he spoke it drained the last of my anger from me. I had minded, once. But who was I now, to begrudge such a thing? As if he heard me, he smiled , and his face was like the sun .

his scorn was like a spark falling on dry tinder.

He is offended, it seems, so the omens say, at the treatment of his dedicated servant. Chryses." Agamemnon's shoulders were rigid.

After that, I was craftier with my observation, kept my head down and my eyes ready to leap away. But he was craftier still. At least once a dinner he would turn and catch me before I could feign indifference. Those seconds, half-seconds, that the line of our gaze connected, were the only moment in my day that I felt anything at all. The sudden swoop of my sotmach, the coursing anger. I was like a fish eyeing the hook.