Quotes About Anger

Later that evening, a concert at the Lincoln Memorial, part of an always awkward effort to import pop culture to Washington, ended up, absent any star power, with Trump himself taking the stage as the featured act, angrily insisting to aides that he could outdraw any star.

This was his fundamental innovation in governing: regular, uncontrolled bursts of anger and spleen.

At points on the day's spectrum of adverse political developments, he could have moments of, almost everyone would admit, irrationality. When that happened, he was alone in his anger and not approachable by anyone. His senior staff largely dealt with these dark hours by agreeing with him, no matter what he said. And if some of them occasionally tried to hedge, Hope Hicks never did. She agreed absolutely with all of it.

Whitestone became what everyone around Trump had to become—long-suffering—because Trump was always ready to explode with anger. "It's not your fault," said Whitestone. "It's just your turn, was how we put it." "How's the weather?" was the code for the boss's mood.

After the bill had been pulled that Friday, Katie Walsh, feeling both angry and disgusted, told Kushner she wanted out. Outlining what she saw as the grim debacle of the Trump White House, she spoke with harsh candor about bitter rivalries joined to vast incompetence and an uncertain mission.

Typos drove him wild. He might lash out for days when he found one, or when someone else, more likely, pointed out a mess-up in a letter or document prepared under his name—the infuriated concern of someone thinking somebody else's laziness might reveal his own weaknesses. He was spitting furious now because the legal brief was filled with botches, the second time in a week this had happened—the Unites States! In the first line! A violent overthrown!

the president-elect wore what some around him had taken to calling his golf face: angry and pissed off, shoulders hunched, arms swinging, brow furled, lips pursed. This had become the public Trump—truculent Trump.

Talking to morons like that is like pissing in a urinal full of cigarette butts, like shitting in a toilet full of Tampax: nothing gets flushed, and everything starts to stink.

Bruno ochi È™i arunc? din toate puterile. Piatra se sf?râm? de zid, ratând de puÈ›in capul reptilei. — ?erpii au locul lor în natur?..., observ? Hipiotul-C?runt cu o anume severitate. — Natura, ah! M? È™terg la cur cu ea, b?trâne! M? cac în freza ei! Bruno era din nou furios. — Natur? de c?cat... M? fut în ea de natur?!... morm?i el furios timp de vreo câteva minute.

Se c'è un termine che mi definisce veramente è «troppo». Mi innamoro troppo. Mi appassiono troppo. Mi stanco troppo. Mi arrabbio troppo.

Ford," she whispered to him. "I promise I'll leave you alone, never see you again. Just please, help me get you home." Still nothing. "Ford!" She sat up, her hands gripping his shoulders, putting everything she had into it, all her anger and fear and longing and hope and love. "Ford Winter!" So softly she almost missed it, he whispered, "Present." She laughed through her tears and hugged him. "Good boy," she said.

Have you forgotten," she said in a furious whisper, "that he nearly killed us? That he threw my quiver in the stream, and threatened to snap my bow?" It was unclear which she considered worse: threatening them or her bow.

You can't fool the Angry Ones, Telamon. You can't fool your Ancestors, either. Your father knows what you did. - Hylas

I can understand why the Vikings believed in storm giants. I keep having to remind myself that there is no intention behind this. It feels so angry. As if it wants to tear apart the cabin and carry me off into the night.

Narrander is gestorven... Hij is omgekomen tijdens de grote brand.' 'Een ander is gestorven!' bulderde de Loper.

There wasn't a colloquial phrase, or curse, that went something like, "May your day be full of angry dragons" or, "May every dragon you meet today be pissed off." But, there should have been.

being quick to anger sure ain't a fruit of the Spirit.

I have to admit I was annoyed. Not physically annoyed, but inside annoyed. That helpless feeling you have when you know you should not be angry because you have to consider how other people are feeling or accept them for what they are, and that it is not your place to say anything. But annoyed because you have not been considered in the whole picture, you are there and that is that. Apologies begin to mean nothing at that point and frustration takes over.

Where that rage comes from? Partly, I would say it's a sense that a life can be taken away from you, quickly, in a dumb second for the dumbest reason. That makes me mad, defensive and protective.

I may have been the only candidate in America who failed to ride the wave of anti-establishment anger to victory.

I had a lot of anger inside me and that came out at times that were not particularly advantageous to me career-wise.

He experienced a severe rejection when his sister left the family when he was ten years old. She had abandoned him and he was very angry with her. Mhlengwa chose victims who represented his sister and raped them to act out the sexual fantasies of the Oedipus phase and he killed them to act out the aggressive fantasies that resulted from his anger at being rejected.

He had two types of victim. The prostitutes resembled the women who had rejected him and he acted out his agony and anger in a symbolic manner on these victims. The boys represented himself and, like Simons, he acted out his suffering directly on these victims.

He unleashed his sexual frustrations on these women, but they also provided a means of venting his Oedipal anger at the mother figures for rejecting him, so he strangled the life out of them.