Quotes About Rage

There is nothing fiercer than a failed artist. The energy remains, but having no outlet, it implodes in a great fart of rage which smokes up all the inner windows of the soul.

Rage is exciting, but leaves me confused and exhausted.

A few of these, so few I can count them on my fingers, I let go. They did not see me as their dinner. They were pious men, honestly lost, and I would feed them and if there was a handsome one among them I might take him to my bed. It was not desire, not even its barest scrapings. It was a sort of rage, a knife I used upon myself. I did it to prove my skin was still my own.

I did not tell him the prophecy. I watched him eat and fingered my rage as if it were a knife's point. I wanted to keep it sharp for as long as I could.

It was a sort of rage, a knife I used upon myself. I did it to prove my skin was still my own.

His rage was so hot the air bent and wavered around him. "I can end you with a thought." It was my oldest fear, that white annihilation. I felt it shiver through me. But enough. At last, enough.

When the hauteur slipped from her face, what would I see? Despair, I imagine. Not the passive, withdrawn despair that keeps itself in silence but the raging kind that incinerates all before it.

The mother of an adult child sees her work completed and undone at the same time.' If this holds true, I may have to withstand not only rage, but also my undoing. Can one prepare for one's undoing? How has my mother withstood mine? Why do I continue to undo her, when what I want to express above all else is that I lover her very much?

the rage she'd stored up back then would be all she'd need to keep her going now. Just long enough to unleash it on a worthless, abusive pig.

He spake: and to confirm his words, out flew Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs Of mighty Cherubim; the sudden blaze Far round illumin'd hell: highly they rag'd Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped Arms Clash'd on thir sounding shields the din of war, Hurling defiance toward the Vault of Heav'n.

Mustering their rage, and Heaven resembles Hell! As he our darkness, cannot we his light Imitate when we please?

Ignorance of God is the source of all wickedness and confusion among men. From this ignorance arouse that flood of abominations which God swept away in Noah's day. The sins of Sodom and Gomorrah were burned up with fire from heaven. In short, all the rage, blood, confusion, desolations, cruelties, oppressions and disasters which fill the world to this day, by which the souls of men have been swept into eternal destruction, have all arisen from the ignorance of God.

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.

What was your job back on Earth? I've always been curious. I taught eighth-grade math in Tallahassee. Huh, I said. That's not what I expected. Are you kidding? Powell said back. You try teaching algebra to a bunch of little shitheads for thirty-eight years straight. The way I figure it I've got about another decade before my rage from that gets entirely burned up.

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

Alan hasn't lost it," I said. "And he's been in as long as I have." "That's true," Keyes said. "What's your answer to that, Rosenthal?" "I'm a seething cauldron of disconnected rage on the inside, Lieutenant.

Civil war is supposed to be the bitterest of wars, and surely family politics are the most vehement and venomous. I can discuss politics coldly and analytically with strangers. That was not possible with my sisters. We ended each session panting and spent with rage. On no point was there any compromise. No quarter was asked or given.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

What we fear we often rage against.

I really believe that all of us have a lot of darkness in our souls. Anger, rage, fear, sadness. I don't think that's only reserved for people who have horrible upbringings.

Pundits talk about 'populist rage' as a way to trivialize the anger and fear coursing through the middle class.

Impatience turns an ague into a fever, a fever to the plague, fear into despair, anger into rage, loss into madness, and sorrow to amazement.

He was now nothing but a ruin, but a splendid one; grander than a ruin, he had the romantic beauty of a rock beaten by a tempest. Scourged from every side by the waves of suffering, by rage at his suffering, his face, slowly crumbling like a block of granite almost submerged by the towering seas, retained the style, the suavity I had always admired.

I felt like the most despicable woman in the world for allowing my mother to be a vagabond and not lifting a finger to rescue her. Other nights I cried from rage, from pure hatred, and I couldn't rid myself of it. Hatred is like blood, it's impossible to conceal and it stains everything.