Best 2450 quotes in «anger quotes» category

Aggression like this demanded slinging the first punch in a bar brawl, firing rounds at a range, or setting a car on fire.

Aggression is just where politeness is ignored.

Aggression is such a powerful feeling, its almost arousing when your whole body goes tense, hardens up, and you suppress every single emotion your heart can produce, and the shaking, the sweat that pour off your face, the heavy breathing, its almost like getting a rush of adrenaline over and over again

A home for her, I told her calmly, should come from the dick that knocked her up and then skipped off because no one can stand her two days in a row. She grabbed the tablecloth and threw it at me, but there was nothing on the table, and a tablecloth cannot kill anyone.

Aidha, tunaweza kupata inkishafi kutokana na asili ya miili yetu, matukio fulani ya wakati ujao yana asili yake katika ndoto za binadamu. Ndoto hizo au maono hayo ni ishara ya kile kinachokuja mbele katika maisha ya mtu; kama vile afya, ugonjwa au hatari. Ukiota kuhusu moto, hiyo ni ishara ya hasira – unatakiwa kuwa na hekima; ukiota kuhusu mimba na unajifungua, hiyo ni ishara ya kuwa katika mchakato wa kutengeneza wazo jipya – unatakiwa kushukuru; ukiota unaruka angani, hiyo ni ishara ya tumaini – unatakiwa kushukuru; ukiota kuhusu maji au kiowevu kingine chochote kile, hiyo ni ishara ya siri na wakati mwingine ni ishara ya kuwa na matatizo ya kiafya kama utaota kuhusu maji machafu – unatakiwa kuwa msiri na msafi; ukiota kuhusu ardhi, hiyo ni ishara ya huzuni – unatakiwa kuomba; na ukiota kuhusu Yesu, hiyo ni ishara ya mafanikio – unatakiwa kushukuru.

A kiss a day keeps your wife's wrath away.

A lady never shows her anger, she channels it to further her ends.

A kiss is the only thing you can throw at someone without being held criminally responsible.

A leaders gentle reaction and sound instruction are their greatest weapons.

A lie near to truth is always difficult to catch

A little fire of anger can burn everything that you have built over your lifetime.

A little more compassion and a little less anger is what most of us need.

All at once the anger ran out of John Harkless; he was a hard man for anger to tarry with. And in place of it a strong sense of home-coming began to take possession of him. He was going home. “Back to Plattville, where I belong,” he had said; and he said it again without bitterness, for it was the truth. “Every man cometh to his own place in the end.” Yes, as one leaves a gay acquaintance of the playhouse lobby for some hard-handed, tried old friend, so he would wave the outer world God-speed and come back to the old ways of Carlow. What though the years were dusty, he had his friends and his memories and his old black brier pipe. He had a girl’s picture that he should carry in his heart till his last day; and if his life was sadder, it was infinitely richer for it. His winter fireside should be not so lonely for her sake; and losing her, he lost not everything, for he had the rare blessing of having known her. And what man could wish to be healed of such a hurt? Far better to have had it than to trot a smug pace unscathed. He had been a dullard; he had lain prostrate in the wretchedness of his loss. “A girl you could put in your hat — and there you have a strong man prone.” He had been a sluggard, weary of himself, unfit to fight, a failure in life and a failure in love. That was ended; he was tired of failing, and it was time to succeed for a while. To accept the worst that Fate can deal, and to wring courage from it instead of despair, that is success; and it was the success that he would have. He would take Fate by the neck. But had it done him unkindness? He looked out over the beautiful, “monotonous” landscape, and he answered heartily, “No!” There was ignorance in man, but no unkindness; were man utterly wise he were utterly kind.

All feminine claws, he said to himself, are sheathed in velvet; but they can hurt a good deal if they touch you on the sore places of the defects of your qualities--even merely with the velvet.

All she'd found was that women spent a great deal of time saying they were please when they were not, similing when they were not happy, and pretending their anger and frustation did not exist

All the subjects of the world can be included in the kashays of anger-pride-deceit-greed. Anger and deceit are the ‘protectors’. They have indeed originated from greed. A proud person will have greed for self-validation and recognition from others. And deceit protects it.

All this. They have all this, and what do we get? Walls and tickets and concrete and stink. Rations and hopelessness and rage. I hate them,” she said, the malice in her words like the lingering taste of a bad kiss.

All Welsh knew was that he was scared shitless, and at the same time was afflicted with a choking gorge of anger that any social coercion existed in the world which could force him to be here.

Almost everybody gets angry once in a while, and certainly I do. There are times when maybe a light will go out, you know, or the microphone will go off, or something might happen at home. But do you know what I do when I’m angry? I like to swim, and so I swim extra hard when I’m angry. And also when I was a little boy, about five years old, I learned that I could go to the piano and play real hard on the piano, and that helped me; it really did. There are many things that you can do when you’re angry that don’t hurt you or anybody else.

A lot of pain that we are dealing with are really only THOUGHTS.

A man who called everyone a damn fool is like a man who damns the weather. He only shows that he is not adapted to his environment, not that the environment is wrong.

A locked door was suddenly opened in the back of my mind and a barrage of demented clowns came rushing out.

...although being "angry at God"--or at myself, or him, or anyone else--made no sense to me, I was often overwhelmed by sudden, intense bursts of anger that had no outlet, no appropriate target.

Always follow your dreams with confidence and conviction, don’t fall for the trap of dream killers

Always remember when it comes to family arguments and disputes. "Blood is thicker than anger.

A mind that opens its door to fears, doubts, grudges, jealousy and anger, compromises its peace in return.

A moment of Patience in a moment of Anger saves a thousand moments of Regret.

A moment of anger is a moment of resentment and madness which can burn your heart.

An angry artist tells people what (he thinks) they need to hear. A hungry artist tells people what (he thinks) they want to hear.

A moment of anger can result in years of sorrow.

An angry leader is a scared leader or a hurt leader or a frustrated leader but most of all they are a vulnerable leader.

An angry enemy is a conquered enemy

An angry man is twice stronger than his normal.

And a hopeless, angry man is astoundingly predictable.

And as I spoke the words I felt a terrible anger come together inside me. It wasn't hot and furious, as some of my flashes of temper tend to be. This was different, slow and cold. And as soon as I felt it, I realized it had been there inside me for a long while, crystallizing, like a pond slowly freezing solid over a long winter night.

And even as she holds on to him, like she's drowning, she can feel the familiar anger returning, like an old song that you've heard so many times it's not even a song anymore, just a wasted pathway in your brain that you can never reclaim.

And he wonders, deep in the self-isolated recesses of his mind whether he is killing himself with anger, whether he is destroying his system with fury.

And all this time he was cheating on me! Making a fool out of me! He made me look stupid in front of everyone!

And because he could do nothing about it, Tern’s anger suffocated him. It made more tears.

And everyone saw me. Tobias saw me. I hear footsteps. Tobias marches toward me and wrenches me to my feet. "What the hell was that, Stiff?" "I..." My breath comes in a hiccup. "I didn't-" "Get yourself together! This is pathetic." Something within me snaps. My tears stop. Heat races through my body, driving the weakness out of me, and I smack him so hard my knuckles burn with the impact. He stares at me, one side of his face bright with blush-blood, and I stare back. "Shut up," I say. I yank my arm from his grasp and walk out of the room.

And if I see you step foot on my property again, I’ll do more than make a phone call,” he says, waving the baseball bat around menacingly.

And I wonder if this is the magic taking over. Is this how it starts—the slip of the tongue? A loss of respect? Is this how I become a monster the men whisper of? I turn and run up the stairs before I do something I regret.

And I just want to tell you, at some point it doesn’t matter who was right and who was wrong. At some point, being angry is just another bad habit, like smoking, and you keep poisoning yourself without thinking about it.

And in it all, the sensation of shaking my fists at the sky, shaking my fists high up to the sky, because that is what we do when someone dies too early, too beautiful, too undervalued by the world, or sometimes just at all -- we shake our fists at the big, beautiful, indifferent sky, and the anger is righteous and strong and helpless and huge. I shook and I shook, and I put all of it into the dress.

...And suddenly, from behind me, I hear the metaphysically abrupt arrival of the office boy. I feel like I could kill him for barging in on what I wasn't thinking. I turn around and look at him with a silence full of hatred, tense with latent homicide, my mind already hearing the voice he'll use to tell me something or other. He smiles from the other side of the room and says 'Good afternoon' in a loud voice. I hate him like the universe. My eyes are sore from imagining.

And that's what makes you angry. What makes you hate. You don't want to believe that sometimes bad things happen just because they do.

And you can shove your apology. If it can come out of your damned mouth, then you can stand by it.

And the way you lost your temper!" went on Wallis enthusiastically. "Oh, Mr. Allan, it was beautiful! You haven't been more than to say snarly since the accident! It was so like the way you used to throw hair-brushes--

And what was really mine? A handful of rupees and a mind packed tight with rage.

And then it goes as with all anger attacks. They don’t just consist of one anger, but of many. A long series of angers, flung into a volcano in one’s breast until it erupts.