Quotes About Anger

Osborne said. "I miss Mom, though. That didn't have to happen. The guy who killed her . . . If I knew who it was, I'd think about killing him myself." "Not what you usually want to tell a couple of cops," Jenkins said. "Now if he gets run over by a car, people are going to be looking at your front bumper." "Okay, so I'll back over him," Osborne said.

On the way out to Lawrence's, he thought about Palmer's wild reaction. Was there a little fear there? Hard to tell, with all the other possibilities—anger, bigotry, psychosis.

One of the trucks he passed in the parking lot had a bumper sticker that asked, "Got Hollow Points?" Another said: "Heavily Armed . . . and easily pissed." A third one: "Point and Click . . . means you're out of ammo.

She was the most interesting of the staffers he'd spoken to, because of the underlying self-righteousness, anger, spite . . . whatever. She wore it like a gown. He'd seen it often enough in government work, people who felt that they were better than their job, and better than those around them; a princess kidnapped by gypsies, and raised below her station.

Never anger a sci-fi writer. These people destroy entire planets over lunch. Imagine what they'll do to you.

It's not an effective protest if it's not pissing people off.

I'm a seething cauldron of disconnected rage on the inside, Lieutenant." "Ah, repression," Keyes said. "Excellent. Try to avoid taking a potshot at me when you finally blow, please." "I can't promise anything, sir," Alan said.

Jack Holloway told me he would get the son of a bitch who killed my child and the mate of my child, Papa continued. Jack Holloway did get that son of a bitch. Jack Holloway got you. You are the man who killed my child. Get off my planet, you son of a bitch.

Traitorous, murdering garbage, from your fucking glitterdumpster of a mother on down.

This was a person who operated best and most efficiently when she was truly and genuinely pissed off; wishing for her to mellow out was like wishing an alpha predator would switch to grains. It was missing the point.

It's not an effective protest if it's not pissing people off.

Angrily consume your bacon on the toilet, is my advice.

I'm a seething cauldron of disconnected rage on the inside, Lieutenant.

The greatest terror a child can have is that he is not loved, and rejection is the hell he fears. I think everyone in the world to a large or small extent has felt rejection. And with rejection comes anger, and with anger some kind of crime in revenge for the rejection, and with the crime guilt—and there is the story of mankind. I think that if rejection could be amputated, the human would not be what he is.

The break would never come as long as fear could turn to wrath.

The great companies did not know that the line between hunger and anger is a thin line.

And the hatred was deep in the eyes of the people, beneath the surface.

When Mary is confused or perplexed, she spurts anger the way an octopus spurts ink, and hides in the dark cloud of it.

The greatest terror a child can have is that he is not loved, and rejection is the hell he fears. I think everyone in the world to a large or small extent has felt rejection. And with rejection comes anger, and with anger some kind of crime in revenge for the rejection, and with the crime guilt—and there is the story of mankind. I think that if rejection could be amputated, the human would not be what he is. Maybe

The women watched the men, watched to see whether the break had come at last. The women stood silently and watched. And where a number of men gathered together, the fear went from their faces, and anger took its place. And the women sighed with relief, for they knew it was all right—the break had not come; and the break would never come as long as fear could turn to wrath.

A man so hurt and so perplexed may turn in anger, even on people he loves.

And when a man's feelings are hurt he wants to strike at something, and Abel was in the way of his anger.

In the souls of people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

I thought that once an angry and disgusted God poured molten fire from a crucible to destroy or to purify his little handiwork of mud. I thought I had inherited both the scars of the fire and the impurities which made the fire necessary—all inherited, I thought. All inherited. Do you feel that way?