Best 2450 quotes in «anger quotes» category

Investor confidence rests on leaders who deliver.

In your anger, zip your lips!

Ira furor brevis est: animum rege: qui nisi paret imperat. (Anger is a brief madness: govern your mind [temper], for unless it obeys it commands.)

Ire, like an atom bomb, could clear the field but came with consequence.

I remember once my father and my grandfather were sitting on the porch together, crackling and shelling black walnuts. They loved each other's company, when they weren't at each other's throats, which meant when they were silent, as they were that day.

Irritatingly angry people have no sense of humor when wearing their “angry pants.

is a way for anger to come out as an energy you let loose and away. The trick is to give it a form, and not a human target. The trick is to transform rage. When I watch Andy work the heavy bag, or work his body to drop doing mixed martial arts, I see that anger can go somewhere - out and away from a body - like an energy let loose and given form. Like my junk comes out in art.

I shot up,now as angry and frusterated as him.I had a feeling if i stayed, we'd both snap. In and undertone, I murmured,"this isnt over.i won't give up on you." " I've given up on you,"he said back,voice also soft. "Love fades. Mine has.

Is it atikraman [Hurtful karma] if we eat, cut our hair or brush our teeth? No, it is not like that. Anger-pride-deceit-greed is considered atikraman [Hurtful karma]. If you do pratikraman [Ask for forgiveness], they will all go away.

Is it me you're describing, or yourself?

I slammed out of the Priest Hole and started walking, heading nowhere in particular. Sometimes you just need to go through a door.

Isn't she doing this too? Connecting and disconnecting. Facing grief then turning from it. One minute she is caught up in minutiae. Will her feet get sore standing in heels at the church? Have they made enough food? Will the kitten get scared by dozens of strangers in the house? Should she shut him in a room upstairs? The next moment she is weeping uncontrollably, taken over by pain so profound she can barely move. Then there was the salad bowl incident; her own fury scared her. But maybe these are different ways of dealing with events for all of them. Molly and Luke are infantile echos of her, their emotions paired down, their reactions simpler but similar. For if they have difficulty taking in what has happened, then so too does she. Why is she dressing up, for instance? Why can't she wear clothes to reflect the fact that she is at her lowest end? A tracksuit, a jumper full of holes, dirty jeans? Why can't she leave her hair a mess, her face unmade up? The crazed and grieving Karen doesn't care about her appearance. Yet she must go through with this charade, polish herself and her children to perfection. She, in particular, must hold it together. Oh, she can cry, yes, that's allowed. People expect that. They will sympathize. But what about screaming, howling, and hurling plates like she did yesterday? She imagines the shocked faces as she shouts and swears and smashes everything. But she is so angry, surely others must feel the same. Maybe a plate throwing ceremony would be a more fitting ritual than church, then everyone could have a go...smashing crockery up against the back garden wall.

I spoke a word in anger To one who was my friend, Like a knife it cut him deeply, A wound that was hard to mend. That word, so thoughtlessly uttered, I would we could both forget, But its echo lives and memory gives The recollection yet. How many hearts are broken, How many friends are lost By some unkind word spoken Before we count the cost! But a word or deed of kindness Will repay a hundredfold. For it echoes again in the hearts of men And carries a joy untold.

I step away as I notice a group of young, angry men walking toward us. I doubt that there is any particular reason for their anger. It is the anger that most men feel these days; they are angry about their impotence and their desires and their reality. It is an anger we all feel. But it is an anger only men can freely express.

I still want to be angry, but I have to let my anger go.

I stood up in a flash and flushed a light shade of furious.

I swallowed all the doubt and all the disappointment and all the anger and they were almost too big, like vitamin pills that are difficult to get down even with water.

It almost boosts your self-esteem being screamed at by someone with an English accent.

It began as a flicker in her mind. Just a glint in a place still ruled by childish thoughts and fantasies. Yet that single spark ignited something, and the ensuing flame rushed forth with such speed and intensity that she was momentarily frightened it would swallow her whole. But there was no fighting it. It indeed devoured her, as well as everything else in its path. In the brief passage of an instant, the young girl’s tiny form was filled to the brim with brilliant, searing, blinding rage.

It begins as disbelief and ends in sorrow, but in between those two phases her whole body shakes with anger.

It didn’t hurt me. Not “hurt”. Hurt is a four letter word. It’s short, almost cute sounding. Aawwww, did that hurt? No. It didn’t hurt. Destroyed, Obliterated, Desecrated, Annihilated, Demolished, Shattered, or Demoralised maybe… But no. It didn’t hurt me. It didn’t “hurt” me at all.

It doesn’t drive me mad. It makes me mad.", FADE by Kailin Gow

It felt so huge, so significant, to share such an awful part of myself with him - to be so unbalanced, and to know that I could trust him to be my counterweight.

It felt kind of good to scream. I wished it were socially acceptable to scream more often. Not in class or anything, but maybe there could be some roped-off area or campus designated for screaming your cares away.

I tell you, mister, if there’s anything good about being a hot-tempered bitch, it’s knowing right well what buttons to push in others seeing as they’re the same ones what get your own back up.

I tend to throw tantrums a lot. Wear a helmet in my presence.

I thought if I didnt take a break, I would do something even worse. Like yell or hang up the phone.

I think I hate the concept of needing space. What it really means is that the person is mad at you, or hates you, or doesn't give a shit about you. They just don't want to admit it.

I thought at times that poetry might be an elegant way of screaming.

I thought of Shelley in the hospital, how she said sometimes sadness only looked like anger and judgment. Maybe fear did too.

It is a sign of arrogance to be mad at someone for not acting as per your advice, especially if it was unsolicited.

It is a very terrible thing to be far smaller than one's rage.

It is a wise person that does not anger the Hawaiians.

It is better to remain silence than to speak rudely when being provoked.

It is generally anger dreams that occupy my nights now. This is not uncommon after loss of love— blue and black and red blasting the crater open. I am interested in anger.

It is easy to respond with anger; it is more empowering and spiritually elevating to respond with compassion.

It is human to be angry, but childish to be controlled by anger.

It is called saiyam [inner control] when anger-pride-deceit-greed are under control. However those who renounce are not called saiyami [those with inner control]; they are called ‘tyagi’, one who renounces worldly life.

It is hard to overstate how problematic the transfer of anger, as a resource, from girls to boys and from women to men is - not only to us as individuals but to our society. This transfer is critical to maintaining white supremacy and patriarchy. Anger remains the emotion that is least acceptable for girls and women because it is the first line of defense against injustice.

It is hope--with regard to our careers, our love lives, our children, our politicians, and our planet--that is primarily to blame for angering and embittering us. The incompatibility between the grandeur of our aspirations and the mean reality of our condition generates the violent disappointments which rack our days and etch themselves in lines of acrimony across our faces.

It is Jerry's theory that the Swede is nice, that is to say passive, that is to say trying always to do the right thing, a socially controlled character who doesn't burst out, doesn't yield to rage ever. Will not have the angry quality as his liability, so doesn't get it as an asset either. According to this theory, it's the no-rage that kills him in the end. Whereas aggression is cleansing or curing.

It is no easy thing to be in your mid-twenties and realize that, holy shit, this is it, this is as good as it gets, and from here it's all downhill, the fun's over, the hijinks have jinked their last, nothing lies ahead but drudgery and toil and a sagging belly and death. It's harder yet when a stupid bitch, a numbfuck cunt, one of those horrible sweet-smelling OMG types who wouldn't talk to you in high school and sure as fuck won't talk to you now, takes position on your elbow with a cell phone jammed into her cheek, yammering away. Because who wants to listen to the stream of shit coming out of her mouth? Gossip about friends. Gossip about enemies. Gossip about celebrities. Gossip about gossip. Not a thought in her head. Not a fact. Nothing of interest. Nothing of worth. Just an avalanche of verbal rubbish. The Patriots took on the Redcoats, the Blue fought the Gray, the National Guard stormed the beaches of Normandy, so this submoronic cretin could stand here in her designer boots and talk about what happened at the club last night.

It is good to stay in a peaceful poverty than to stay in a painful wealth.

It is not only that we have the right to claim anger. It is that our anger is a moral obligation.

It is okay of talking about the past, as long as there's no bitterness and anger. It only gives you a heart attack. It won't change the past either.

It is the people that are angry at the status quo that makes a decision to bring change.

It is so easy at times for a lonely individual to begin fantasizing about what the people outside are saying about him and, in result, irrationally and fearfully, and sometimes angrily, fancy himself a villain.

I told myself I would not be sad. I would feel nothing but anger now. People act like being angry is a bad thing. Calm down, sit down, be quiet, be a good girl. Fuck. That. Anger is power. Anger is a weapon and a gift. Anger takes the pit in your stomach and makes it a black hole. And everybody watch the fuck out.

It occurred to me almost constantly in the South that had I lived there I would have been an eccentric and full of anger, and I wondered what form the anger would have taken. Would I have taken up causes, or would I have simply knifed somebody?

It made my blood boil so hot, my brain stopped working right.