Quotes About Fury

Anger is action without thoughts.

The silence was pregnant with noise, with muted fury, with questions the father found too disgusting to frame and with answers to which the son was incapable of giving voice.

Anger is an appropriate reaction to racist attitudes, as is fury when the actions arising from those attitudes do not change.

The feeling that your daughter is a deviant already and will only get worse. In a flash, you can see her as a feral adolescent, as a dirty-bomb teenager, a burst of invisible and spreading fury. Where is she now? She's fled, not to her room but somewhere else, a closet, she always hides somewhere disturbing, a place befitting a German fairy tale. Believe

Leaving was out of the question, of course. A combination of pride, obstinacy, and simple gonadal fury rooted him in his tracks. Here he would do battle, and that was that.

Hell hath no fury like a coolly received postmodernist.

Apeshit has rarely enjoyed so literal a denotation.

La violencia ha sido el martillo y el cincel de esta conquista, pero se llega a un punto en que ya nada puede la violencia: todo asalto despierta una avalancha, toda herida devuelve una enfermedad, todo crimen inicia una prodigiosa aniquilación, las respuestas de los dioses no se modulan con palabras comunes, y la furia de los humanos acaba por volverse contra sí misma

De qué serviría presentar objeciones? Un huracán es un acto de Dios. Quizá la guerra también lo sea... todavía no lo sé. Por ahora mi opinión es que la guerra es un acto de los hombres. No me gusta. La odio con todas mis fuerzas. Pero cuando su furia me arrastra, no veo que pueda hacer nada... excepto desear que pueda salir con vida de ella, y te aseguro que es lo que estoy esperando.

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drenched our teeples, drowned the cocks! You sulphurour and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's molds, all germens spill at once That make ingrateful man!

I understand a fury in your words But not your words.

I will have such revenges on you both, That all the world shall—I will do such things— What they are, yet I know not, but they shall be The terrors of the earth!

O, why should wrath be mute, and fury dumb? I am no baby, I, that with base prayers I should repent the evils I have done: Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did Would I perform, if I might have my will; If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul.

What art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death.

Turn hell-hound, turn.

La vida no es más que una sombra en marcha; un mal actor que se pavonea y se agita una hora en el escenario y después no vuelve a ser oído: es un cuento narrado por un idiota, lleno de ruido y de furia, que nada significa

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

Though it is a painful fact that most Negroes are hopelessly docile, many of them are filled with fury, and the unctuous coating of flattery which surrounds and encases that fury is but a form of self-preservation.

The most frightening blazing anger was alive in her now. It was not only Elizabeth that she could have killed but Ross. She could have thrown every piece of crockery at him, and knives and forks too. Indeed she could have attacked him knife in hand. Fundamentally there was nothing meek or mild about her. She was a fighter, and it showed now.

But to be furious, murderously furious, is to be alive. No longer young, no longer pretty, no longer loved, or sweet, or lovable, unmasked, writhing on the ground for all to see in my utter ingloriousness, there's no telling what I might do

And I walk on a tightrope up to the edge of my dream. Guts tortured by voluptuousness guide me, fury of impulses. Before I organise myself, I must disorganize myself internally. To experience that first and fleeting primary state of freedom. Of the freedom to err, fall and get up again.

My mother did not need much food - she ran on wrath (pp94)

Come be angry at a nearer distance

His eyes look too bright, the way the do in people who are in love, people who are enraged, and people who are completely bonkers.