Quotes About Rage

each of us humans has a moment-if not many-in which we lapse. for some, the transgression involves sex. for others, simply doubt or a rage so all encompassing, it impels us to make irreversible decisions. but whatever the transgression is doesn't really matter. what matters is that lapsing is our fate. we humans are doomed to it. worse, it is our destiny to look back longingly, with nostalgia, at our world before we changed, at who we were Before. we can never forget. but we can never go back.

But whatever, we descendants of the Girl Line may not have wealth and proper windows in our drafty homes but at least we have rage and we will build empires with that, gentlemen.

A rage so sharp it turned to grief. A grief so big it turned to rage.

Oh s'il te plaît cache-moi dans ton abri antiplanétaire pour que la vie qui a la rage ne me retrouve jamais, redonne-moi mon rire aveugle et la distance, surtout, la distance jadis si grande entre la mort et moi...

My self-righteous rage burns until I am forced to concede that I, in fact, have told them nothing. This language that I dip into like a dry inkwell has failed me.

Anger just tears to pieces the human psyche and there is a continuous smile of rage and an endless laugh of despair. A person convulses and cannot stop laughing and then dies spiritually and a new personality is born with an eternal smile of awareness.

Love is full of peace and rage. It's another synonym of freedom - sacrifice is necessary.

Paper is the strongest material in the world. Things under which a mountain will crumble, you can place on paper and it will hold: beauty at its most intense; love at its fiercest; the greatest grief; the greatest rage.

We cannot forget joy. No matter how deep our rage and pain.

I've changed my mind," through harsh, whistling breaths. "I think I'll make her into my pet in your stead." "Sahara!" A rage of sound. "I'll come for you! Survive! Survive for me!" They were the last words she heard before her mind went black.

I am not a mortal to be taken," Favashi gritted out. "I am not a beast to be broken." Each word was red with power and anger and rage. "I am an archangel.

At that moment, she saw not the man but the leopard within. And she realized the truth far too late - he wasn't human, wasn't Psy, was *changeling*. The leopard lived in every aspect of him, from his strength to his anger to his rage.

Fuck!" Sweat rolled down his spine as he covered the remaining distance at extreme speed. She wasn't allowed to die, he thought, his rage dark red flame. Not until he'd flushed this vicious hunger for her from his system.

Leaving them alive would've been a sign of weakness, and Tatiana expects weakness from the 'emotional' races. What the bitch doesn't understand is that rage is an emotion, too.

I hope instead she rages!

There was a song in this forest, too, but it was a savage song, whispering of madness and tearing and rage.

I leaned against his side, his irritation oddly comforting. After a moment he grudgingly put his arm around me. The deep quiet was already settling back upon the grove, as if all the fire and rage we'd brought could make only a brief interruption in its peace.

Tod didn't laugh at the man's rhetoric. He knew it was unimportant. What mattered were his messianic rage and the emotional response of his hearers. They sprang to their feet, shaking their fists and shouting.

We have just witnessed a classic example of what I like to call 'misdirected rage'. I believe the technical term is being an ass.

It's lonely to say goodbye. Very lonely. Please. Cry with me. Maybe there's nothing we can do about this. But at least, for now...cry with me. Like your entire body...is screaming at the sky. Like it's raging against the world. I lost something. And I don't have a single guarantee. The fear of living in this world again after that...I have only a shred of hope to sustain me. So I want you at least...to cry. Cry. Cry with me. Like the day you were first born into this world.

Shigure: We have just witnessed a classic example of what I like to call 'misdirected rage'. I believe the technical term is being an ass.

We have just witnessed a classic example of what I like to call 'misdirected rage'. I believe the technical term is being an ass.

Dead men couldn't fight. Only living men, fuming at injustice and enraged at the loss of their fellows, fought, and won wars.

A battle, shield wall to shield wall. Linden wood to linden wood. She imagined meeting a man the size of Forthere, huge with battle rage, stinking with it; dogs dripping and snarling at her legs, her arms. Sharp swords cleaving down, splintering shields, crushing skulls, slicing off faces. Men sworn to follow their lord or die. Victory or death, no middle ground.