Quotes About Anger

I stared at Jean-Claude still cuddled on the corner of the bed. He looked adorable, and if I'd had a gun, I'd have shot him on the spot.

Yeah, it is, because anger will help me keep moving until the job is done. Sadness won't. Grief won't. Anxiety won't. All those touchy-feely emotions that are supposed to be what make us human or whole or whatever will cripple you in the middle of a battle.

What could I possibly be mad about?' The sarcasm was thick enough to eat with a spoon.

Hot rage runs through you, and is close kin to hot passion, but cold rage, that is close kin to hate.

The anger washed away in the knowledge that I was a hypocrite. I don't know how much of it showed on my face, but Jean-Claude cocked his head to one side. "Thoughts are flying across your face, ma petite, but what thoughts?" I stared up at him. "I think I owe you an apology." His eyes widened. "Then this is a truly historic occasion. What are you apologizing for?" I

Benissimo. Il tuo peccato è la lussuria, Anita, cioè lo stesso del tuo master e di tutti i suoi vampiri.» Scossi la testa, sentendo un sorriso sgradevole incurvarmi le labbra. Lo stesso sorriso che lascia freddi i miei occhi e di solito significa che sono davvero incazzata. «No, non è questo il mio peccato. Non è quello più vicino e più caro al mio cuore.» «E qual è allora il tuo peccato?» «L'ira, Malcom. L'ira.»

Perché sei arrabbiata?» Chinai la testa perché aveva ragione. «Non chiederlo, okay? Lascia che il malumore mi passi e proverò anch'io a lasciare che passi.»

Strike that, no killing today, though depending on the level of stupid aimed at us, I was willing to look at a little mayhem.

I wanted to slug him. The desire to smash that beautiful face was physical. It tightened my shoulders, made my arms ache. But I knew better. You don't volunteer for slugfests with vampires. It shortens your life expectancy. I

He'd let his anger take him to a place that his ass might have trouble getting out of, or maybe I just didn't understand the normal branch of the service whose badge I carried. She put her elbows on the arms of her chair, her hands like a double fist in front of her lips. "Second, get the fuck off my desk." Oh, I did understand the normal branch of the service. It worked just like all the others.

Is anger always your go-to emotion?" he asked, sounding angry himself. "Yeah, it is, because anger will help me keep moving until the job is done. Sadness won't. Grief won't. Anxiety won't. All those touchy-feely emotions that are supposed to be what make us human or whole or whatever will cripple you in the middle of a battle.

Enraged, the other crew members

Here stands a girl clutching a knife. There is grease on the stove, blood in the air, and angry words piled in the corners. We are trained not to see it, not to see any of it. . . . Someone just ripped off my eyelids.

To keep up appearances, I stomp my room and slam the door.

Shame, turned inside out, is rage.

I'm angry that I starved my brain and that I sat shivering in my bed at night instead of dancing or reading poetry or eating icecream or kissing a boy or maybe a girl...

I am angry that I starved my brain and that I sat shivering in my bed at night instead of dancing or reading poetry or eating ice cream or kissing a boy or maybe a girl with gentle lips and strong hands.

The smoke shifted direction and I breathed in. Breathed out. On the inhale I was angry. On the exhale…there it was again. Fear. The fear made me angry and the anger made me afraid and I wasn't sure who he was anymore. Or who I was.

Here stands a girl clutching a knife. There is grease on the stove, blood in the air, and angry words piled in the corners.

No. Absolutely not. I forbid it. You'll have nightmares. She was my friend! You must allow me. Why are you so horrid? As soon as the angry words were out of my mouth, I knew I had gone too far. Matilda! Mother rose from her chair. You are forbidden to pseak to me in that tone! Apologize at once.

I used to dream about bringing a knife to therapy and slicing her into pork chop-sized pieces.

I want to confess everything, hand over the guilt and mistake and anger to someone else.

I know my head isn't screwed on straight. I want to leave, transfer, warp myself to another galaxy. I want to confess everything, hand over the guilt and mistake and anger to someone else. There is a beast in my gut, I can hear it scraping away at the inside of my ribs. Even if I dump the memory, it will stay with me, staining me.

Dr. StupidParker says that when I'm sad it really means I'm angry and when I'm angry it really means I'm afraid.