Best 2450 quotes in «anger quotes» category

Assessment precedes improvement.

As soon as anger knocks at one’s door, wisdom prepares to leave.

As the sky faded to night, her anger dissipated—but not in a healing way, just dulled, like forged iron sizzling in a cold pail of water.

As we embrace the mystery of love, we see that it contains not an absence of error, but the presence of grace. It contains not the absence of anger or pain, but the presence of forgiveness and healing. Not the absence of disharmony or confusion, but the presence of peace and clarity. To make a home into a sanctuary, we must be willing to make room in our hearts for one another's limitations, as well as our gifts. For it is here in this sacred space of the home and family, so brimming with life, so full of every emotion available to our hearts, that we learn what it means to love within all the nuances of an intimate relationship.

As you know, I have always been curious about our immortality... how it feels to live on and on through time....I need speculate no longer, I have sampled eternity in Miss Campbell's fifth period "social studies" class. Three days on the concept of "manifest destiny," Vasile. THREE DAYS. I yearned to stand up, rip her lecture notes from her pallid hands, and scream, 'Yes, America expanded westward! Is that not logical, given that Europeans settled on the Eastern shore? What else were they to do? Advance vainly into the sea?

A team succeeds where an individual fails.

A team is more than the sum of the individuals.

At ten, irritable and restless, I walked to the kitchen and stole two of Nathan's beers, leaving an apologetic note under his door, and drank them, one after the other, gulping so fast that I had to suppress a huge belch. I felt bad about that damned cockroach. What was he doing after all? Just going about his cockroachy business. Maybe he'd been lonely. Maybe he'd wanted to make friends with me. I went and peered under the basin where I'd kicked him but he was definitely dead. This made me irrationally angry. I'd thought you weren't meant to be able to kill cockroaches. I'd been lied to about cockroaches. I added this to my list of things to feel furious about.

At times anger will trigger harsh words. After a cooling period wisdom sets in; finally, the ability to speak from the heart with love and compassion.

A very smart woman once told me that anger can feel like a life buoy, like it's the only thing keeping you afloat, but that in order to heal you have to let go.

Avoid anger; embrace kindness.

A wise man is someone who knows how to convert obstacles into resources.

Be careful in your life, Tolui. I want you fit and strong for when I come for you.

A writer draws a road map where readers walks with their love, joy, anger, tears, and dismay. Every story, every poem, has different meanings for every reader.

Banal sexism aside, I find myself tempted to read Wuthering Heights as one thick stacked act of revenge for all that life withheld from Emily. But the poetry shows traces of a deeper explanation. As if anger could be a kind of vocation for some women. It is a chilly thought.

Because conflict-avoidant Emily would never “bite” or even hiss unless Greg had done something truly horrible, on some level she processes his bite to mean that she’s terribly guilty—of something, anything, who knows what?

Because hate doesn't just touch the intended target, it spreads to every person who witnesses it.

Because of anger-pride-deceit-greed, selfishness [self-interest] remains and consequently one has no awareness of who dies or who takes birth. It is simply a wrong belief that has arisen. But after a long time, as one progresses, if he meets a Gnani Purush [the enlightened one], he will acquire the awareness that birth and death is simply a phase.

Because I am terrified by what I want: for him, and worst of all, from him. Because I do want. I'm not even sure what, exactly, but the want is there, just like the hate and anger were there before. But this is not a tower. It is an endless, tunneling pit; it drives deep, and opens a hole inside me.

because the past was always around her and might return at any time. It prowled the world searching for her, and she knew it was growing angrier at every passing day.

Being snappy is a symptom of an argument we forgot to have some way back.

Being rude to someone loving all the time can make your loving behavior same as your rude one for that person. So you should not always be rude in small mistakes

Being Wise & Being Smart are two different things anyone can be smart but those who master the art of knowing what to overlook in this journey called life deserves to be called Wise

Behind anger, is hidden the cemetery. (Derrière la colère, - Se cache le cimetière.)

Being mad at failure and being analytical about the reason for failure are 2 different things, first reason slow us down the second will give us an extra boost to try better next time, being mad at things, people or situation is easy, the difficult part is giving your madness a method to succeed.

Be merry, because it confuses your enemies; happy, because it annoys them; cheerful, because it angers them; and joyful, because it kills them.

Believing that Sibel was saying these things to me to make me angry, I got angry. But this is not to say that the fury owed nothing to my partial awareness that she was right.

Be soft enough not to break; be kind enough to not get angry.

Better to find one thing to live for than a thousand things to be against.

Beware anger is contagious...Don't allow other's anger to become yours

Beware of those who don't fight back. Sooner or later, they will.

Beyond the canopy of my embrace, you shall feel the blistering heat of the Desert.

Biology textbooks tell you the opposite action of sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems. One produces cold, blue-white anger, the other flushed apoplexy. Roy's was the pink sort. He was a big blonde man, with Viking bristle to eyebrows and mustache.

Bitterness is venom that consumes its host.

Bitterness is anger gone sour, an attitude of deep discontent that poisons our souls and destroys our peace.

Both sadness and anger are the two sides of same coin. Sadness is supressed anger, while anger is expressed sadness. Both sadness and anger are state of unhappiness, which are often because lack of self-love.

Both the suicidal and non-suicidal are often angry with others. One way to discharge this anger is to fantasize about violent revenge. The insults of daily life often cause fantasies of revenge to flare up and quickly subside. The people with these fantasies usually do not act on them; they are not motives or goals. They are involuntary responses to perceived insult—ways of coping with rage. The suicidal, whether or not they attempt, suffer tremendous and persistent pain and anger. That this pain should find its way into their fantasies and dreams is no surprise. This ideation is not a motive for action; it is an alternative to action. Fantasizing about suicide is an effort to delay or avoid suicide, not the activity of formulating a motive, goal, or intention. Fantasies doubtlessly succeed in preventing many attempts.

Breathe a word of prayer, not anger.

Bridget’s tight fists began to shake as something from deep inside, born of utter anger and hatred, crept from the depths of her soul. She lunged at him, prepared to pound his handsome face to blood and bone, but the straps prevented her. Instead, she was quickly zapped with a heady pulse of electricity. As she howled in anguish, Doctor Spencer beamed with satanic amusement.

Brother, if any man thinks ill of you, do not be angry with him. For you are worse than he thinks you to be. If he charges you falsely on some point, yet be satisfied, for if he knew you better he might change the accusation and you would be no gainer by the correction. If you have your moral portrait painted and it is ugly, be satisfied. For it only needs a few blacker touches and it would be still nearer the truth. “I will be base in my own sight.” This was well said. Perhaps if David had carried it out more fully and had been rendered watchful thereby, it might have saved him from his great fall. A sense of electing love will render you base in your own sight.

Brother—” “I thought we’d already decided we weren’t that, either.” Grabbing his shoulder, I stopped him before he could reach the door. “Look, I’m sorry! I’m sorry I did this to you.” He turned to look at me, his brow raised high. “You’re sorry. So, what . . . we go back to being cool again?” “I don’t know, man. But we can’t do this.” “And why can’t we? You couldn’t stand to let me have one normal day with her. Have I done anything to you since she and I broke up?” He paused, but I didn’t respond. “No. I haven’t. You dealt with it by being an ass, so let me deal with this my way. And my way doesn’t include acting like you didn’t steal my girl from me.” “I didn’t steal Harper!” He opened the door and took a step outside, his shaking hand gripping the outer knob. When he looked back at me, his eyes were flat and lifeless. “You stole my entire world.

But a person can only keep reality - and anger - at bay for so long before the truth comes back again.

But anger expressed and translated into action in the service of our vision and our future is a liberating and strengthening act of clarification, for it is in the painful process of this translation that we identify who are our allies with whom we have grave differences, and who are our genuine enemies.

But even then I knew how it was going to be, I could feel the coming silence in the long, poisonous pauses that expanded as the night progressed.

But, even when angry, she had a voice that would put finches in their place and lull them to silence.

But I haven’t forgotten my misplaced anger either, so I also have to remember to shut the fuck up and listen sometimes. Because if I’m this angry as a white, hetero, cis, thin, able-bodied woman (Polly Pocket: Privilege), I can only imagine how angry women at the intersections of other forms of oppression are. Which means I need to connect to a larger community and movement, to let my voice be one of many, to be a voice that sometimes just amplifies other people’s. Turns out this is great, though – because the only thing better than one angry woman is an army of them.

But it's more than a scratch it's a slap in the face and a knife in the back, it's a punch in the stomach because you'd rather believe some made up rumor than what you knew to be true. So tell me Jessica, did you drag yourself to my funeral? And what about you-the rest of you- did you drag yourself to my funeral, and if you did, did you see the scars you left? No, probably not because most of them can't been seen with the naked eye.

But it always came back to anger.

But, Jocelyn, if I really were all those things [good, kind, talented, hard working, open to change, and adorable]... ...I would die.' I wasn't sure what I meant by this, but it suddenly struck me as the truth. 'Because you'd rather die than feel anger at your mother for not giving you what you needed?

Bridget's anger evaporated and the sadness came back. The anger was easier. She owned and controlled it, whereas the sadness owned her.