Best 79 quotes in «fury quotes» category

Impotent fury rages powerless and to no purpose.

Is this one of those days where we all stalk out in fury? Because I simply haven't got the energy for it.

Interesting, isn’t it? What do you have to say about that, Fury? (Savitar) They’re on crack. (Fury) Anyone else on crack? (Savitar)

My tweeting is cool and calm unless I am riled up about something and then I just surrender to the fury of my fingers.

Listen, Bruce Lee fought out of anger. That’s why they call it the Fists of Fury. Michael Jackson danced with fury. I do stand up out of fury. I’m not mad at anybody. I’m not mad at any human being because I’m a human being.

North Korea best not make any more threats to the United States. They will be met with fire and fury like the world has never seen. Kim Jong-un has been very threatening, beyond a normal statement. And as I said, they will be met with fire, fury and, frankly, power, the likes of which this world has never seen before.

North Korea best not make any more threats to the United States. They will be met with fire and fury like the world has never seen.

Out of love you can speak with straight fury.

One must look at what impiety hates, what puts it in a rage, what it attacks always, everywhere, and with fury - that will be the truth.

Scholarship hath no fury like that of a language purist faced with sludge.

Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, See the Furies arise!

Shut up, sod off, and let me in. (Fury)

The belief in poetry is a magnificent fury, or it is nothing.

The confounding of all right and wrong, in wild fury, has averted from us the gracious favor of the gods.

Then I’ll do some digging. (Fury) You just can’t help this kamikaze streak you have, can you? (Sasha)

There's no fury more righteous than that of a sinner accused of the wrong sin.

Troops of furies march in the drunkard's triumph.

Vane passed the mashed potatoes across Bride to Fury, who stared at them with a fierce frown "What are these?" he asked. "Potatoes," Vane told him. "What did they do to them?

we know that the Furies do not come uninvited.

We shall find no fiend in hell can match the fury of a disappointed woman; scorned, slighted, dismissed without a parting pang.

Rage is a short-lived fury.

The only way I've been able to stay informed without letting fury rule my life is to channel my rage into something that ultimately feels like love to me. The place I do that the best is in my writing. That's where I feel like I can tap into the power of story and maybe bring something good into the world.

The problem with ruling by fear is that eventually, when the fear fades, fury replaces it.

The vitality of a new movement in Art must be gauged by the fury it arouses.

We are the ghosts of the singing furies .

Anger gets you into trouble, ego keeps you in trouble.

An angry man rarely stops to let facts get in the way of his fury.

Anger is a consuming thing, a burning takeover. It sets up shop in your heart and head and murders anything else attempting to makes it way in. Life becomes obsessed with it, clouded with it, engrossed in it. You justify feeling with delusions that you're owed retribution. You condone thoughts and vengeful acts, feeding yourself with the idea that it's warranted. But that nourishment comes at a price. It costs you pieces of your soul, your love, your worth. You disregard your beliefs, your conscience. You adopt apathy like it's salvation because you know in your heart of hearts that you would deteriorate into nothing without it. Because you don't want to let it go. It makes you feel powerful, that anger. It makes you feel important. So you will let it eat you alive, consume every part of you until all that's left is hollow revenge.

A dingily bilious sun was seeping through a tent of black clouds. Passersby, spitefully elbowing elbows, were rushing along the pavement. People thronging the doorways of shops tried to pummel their way through and stuck fast, their faces flushed with spite and fury, their teeth bared.

Anger swirled in him, a tempest readying her strike. And like a helpless vessel caught in her fury, he felt himself dashed against the rocks without mercy.

As he returned to the bed, he could see Vallant eyeing him warily, but he ignored this, sat on the opposite end and braced the pad on his knee. You think after all that, I will leave? What sort of monster do you take me for? You think I could be that callous? No better than the piece of filth who used you, nor the soulless fiend who sold you? He ripped off the page and handed it over, but he began a second note even before Vallant had taken the first from his hand. Is this bastard still alive? I assume not, that Rodger had him strangled? He had to pause, forcing his grip on the pencil to lighten before he went on. I want his name, if he isn't already dispatched. I'm not without resources or influence. And I'm very difficult to prosecute.

But even of him I can think of with sorrow, now at this moment. Those times, those people...have gone. How can there be fury felt for things that are gone to dust.

Fury reigns down on those who ignore in the wisdom of fear itself.

Enójate, ponte furiosa si quieres, pero no dejes que esos sentimientos te duren más de 5 minutos, porque si lo permites, entonces habrás perdido la batalla.

First, the wind would rumble in the distance like an approaching river, then he would see grass bend, pressed by a great invisible hand. The dull rumble would rise in pitch to a swishing, lashing exultation, causing stalks to lie flat against the ground while the tougher branches of shrubs held themselves up and shrieked their defiance in the gusts. Then the first drops, cold and heavy, would plummet from the sky and burst on the ground.

Flames of outrage and reprisal had likewise made a comeback, his nearly forgotten, silent heritage no longer hidden by thirty years of compliance. Instead the fire grew, unmitigated by training, logic or reason.

Fury invaded where fear dare not. The thirst for revenge still burned his throat and coated his tongue. The last few days, he'd been a complete ass, visiting violence on his brothers because he could, because they would take it, because, in the end, they were the same. Monsters all.

I can hear the tick tick tick in my head: A tripwire ready to explode in fury. And then, in my mind, I start to count down from ten…any moment now.

I ‘fear’ an intelligent man who has a pen, but I am much more careful with a man without understanding who has a cutlass. The former can be dangerous, but the latter can be very bloody!

I could burn this place down As many times as I'd like in my mind, Without any sympathy For the girl or her mother Who live beneath me

I take one last look at my reflection in the mirror. Ashes already flake down over my cheeks and nose, marking me. The red stain I used on my lips looks like fresh blood. Underneath, I see bits and pieces of my mother staring back at me, but twisted with hate and fury my mother never needed to know. I'm not sorry for it. I am angry. I am hungry. And I promise myself that one day I will watch them all burn.

If his men could have seen his young face under his faceplate, or if they could have heard the silent curses rolling off his tongue, they would have realized to their astonishment that their captain, only twenty years of age but already famous and formidable, was crying. Astrias's tears were tears of burning fury. The rage he felt that hour he would never forget for his whole life thereafter.

Instead of courage' management guru Tom Peters recommends fostering 'a level of fury with the status quo such that one cannot not act.

I think the time that I knew that I was capable of all the things that I disliked the most in other people was, oddly enough, one of the most joyful moments: when our first child was born. And I just felt this love for this beautiful little girl who was so fragile and so vulnerable. Some point around that week, I started to understand why wars were fought. I started to understand why people were capable of cruelty in order to protect themselves and their own. And I was very humbled to realise that.

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

Loved with obsessive devotion, hated with barely controlled fury.

...my father, [was] a mid-level phonecompany manager who treated my mother at best like an incompetent employee. At worst? He never beat her, but his pure, inarticulate fury would fill the house for days, weeks, at a time, making the air humid, hard to breathe, my father stalking around with his lower jaw jutting out, giving him the look of a wounded, vengeful boxer, grinding his teeth so loud you could hear it across the room ... I'm sure he told himself: 'I never hit her'. I'm sure because of this technicality he never saw himself as an abuser. But he turned our family life into an endless road trip with bad directions and a rage-clenched driver, a vacation that never got a chance to be fun.

—¡¿Me buscabais?! —Así es, Gryal Ibori. —¡Pues aquí me tenéis! —gritó furioso, con el alma ardiente y la voz quebrada. Estaba cansado de todo y de todos. Sólo quería ver a Lorette, reunirse con ella y estar a su lado. Y corrió hacia sus enemigos, como un león herido y rodeado, como un hombre que sólo tiembla por frío y sólo llora por amor. Su capa negra se deslizó en el viento, cual triste bandera, y Gryal cortó el aire con su espada ensangrentada.

Muscles tore and scarlet poured with each swing the dragon could muster and he roared.

Must I at length the Sword of Justice draw? Oh curst Effects of necessary Law! How ill my Fear they by my Mercy scan, Beware the Fury of a Patient Man.