Quotes About Rage

Her voice sounded wistful, but Ven didn't trust it. She was a master at shielding her emotions. For all he knew, this pleasant greeting hid murderous rage.

And for the first time she realized she didn't hate spirits. Not anymore. Everything she'd told Naelin was true: you couldn't hate them. You had to accept them, even love them. They were a part of the world, and alongside their hatred and rage, there was also beauty and the desire for life to thrive.

I worried I might have a heart as evil and unfeeling as those savages. Just like back in the barracks, all I could think was, What about Clemmie? What about Iyaiya? And I sure didn't see any answers in the faces twisted with rage for a corn husk doll.

She never knows when it might strike. The rage. And when it does, she loses her grip on herself—literally. At times, she could swear she sees another self—shiny black phantom, faceless, as though clad in a bodysuit—leaping out of her, pulling the rest of her in its wake. Over the edge.

His face was contorted with rage, muscles twitching beneath his skin like a nest of rattlesnakes in a thin cotton sack.

At first Widmerpool and I were unable to grasp the root of the trouble, partly because Monsieur Lundquist's lobbing technique was sufficiently common for none of the rest of us specially to have noticed it that afternoon: partly because at that age I was not yet old enough to be aware of the immense rage that can be secreted in the human heart by cumulative minor irritation.

Mrs. Quiverful, when she first heard from her husband the news which he had to impart, felt within her bosom all the rage of the lioness, the rapacity of the hound, the fury of the tragic queen, and the deep despair of the bereaved mother.

began to scream and yell. The SS was betraying him now as well as the army. This rage was far worse than any of his rows with Guderian. Eventually he collapsed into an armchair, drained and weeping.

The rage - at fate, at God. Not merely being helpless, but in someone's - something's - power. I've always detested any sense of power over me.

I confess to sudden rages. Walking in Midtown, rush hour's peak, people streaming in both directions, I find myself seething, ready to kill. Who are all these fucking people, and how is it fair, how is it even possible that all of them, these perfectly ordinary people, should be alive, when you --

The mindfulness rage was just another distraction, he said. Of course we should be stressed, he said. We should be utterly consumed with dread. Mindful meditation might help a person face drowning with equanimity, but it would do absolutely nothing to right the Titanic, he said.

Look at you, sullen in yielding, brutal in your rage— you will go too far. It's perfect justice: natures like yours are hardest on themselves

For the love of god, Oedipus, tell me too, what is it? Why this rage? You're so unbending.

This time let me be. Let me rage.

We fight when the rage takes us. We do not stop fighting until the angels are all dead or gone back to their home." "You speak of Gaea's breath. I am a stranger to it." "You have heard it wailing. It is a raging gale from the heavenly towers; cold from the west and hot from the east.

Those without enough love experience rage, but love drives rage away.

Cam was filled with the rage of a man unable to rescue his lady, even though she was only debatably in danger.

On the Métro heading to school, Anna launched into a wicked impersonation of her enraged English teacher stamping her foot: "Shut zee mouths!

My first lyric departed directly from Mingus's title "This Subdues My Passion." If you didn't think the song was already half written after that title, then you had no business dallying with the tune in the first place. I wrote about the way that music tempers the violence within a man. This subdues my passion And it may control my rage It may stem the poison that spills out onto the page

We must learn how to explode! Any disease is healthier than the one provoked by a hoarded rage.

De s-ar înfuria marile, sa-si sparga valurile de inima omeneasca!

Any disease is healthier than the one provoked by a hoarded rage.

The Iliad thus begins to suggest that no community can succeed by honoring exceptional individuals whose indulgence in rage and ruthless pursuit of honor causes them to neglect or imperil those who depend upon them.

There is not a Negro alive who does not have this rage in his blood–one has the choice, merely, of living with it consciously or surrendering to it. As for me, this fever has recurred in me, and does, and will until the day I die.