Best 339 quotes in «rage quotes» category

Rage, recover, repeat.

Rage and revenge sat in his heart fanned by time and silence. Before he could realise anything, he was engulfed in flames. Everything he touched, lost its existence in his life. Turning him into a monster, who destroys everything in a daylight but cries in dark and silence.

Rage colors her every movement. Rage that has nothing to do with her so-called bodyguards and everything to do with me and her and the confusion rolling around inside the both of us. This should be interesting

Rage is the truest path to chaos.

Repression often becomes a pattern of behavior leaving little need for release of anger. Upon reaching adulthood, the individual who thus far has adequately repressed rage since childhood may find himself in situations where he is unable to suppress hostile feelings.

Scarlett kicked the coverlet in impotent rage, trying to think of something bad enough to say. 'God's nightgown!' she cried at last, and felt somewhat relieved.

Shane sat like a statue if a statue wore headphones and radiated angry coiled tension that made hair stand up on a person's arms. She felt like she was sitting next to an unexploded bomb, and given all of the physics she'd had, she understood what that meant. Talk about potential energy.

She is so white-hot furious she can barely see. She stokes the fire of her hatred, feeding it tidbits about bigoted Dina and spineless mushmouth Ralph, because she knows that just beyond the rage is a sorrow so enervating it could render her immobile. She needs to keep moving, flickering around the room. She needs o fill her bags and get the hell out of here.

She was beginning to recognize it as the feeling of anger taken to such a level it was no longer possible to separate it from any other emotion or thought. In a way, it was a liberating sensation.

She was impressed by its simplicity and its seriousness, and the rage she had cultivated with so much love for so many days faded away on the spot.

Rage and hurt coalesce into a stone in my chest and as I take another gulp of my father's prized whiskey, I hear myself say, "Tell me about your plan.

Rage became a layer of my skin.

Rage swallowed remorse. Rage drop-kicked self-pity. Rage murdered sorrow. And then, like blood-red wine tucked into the refrigerator, rage chilled to become cold, calculating anger. Anger was a creature that arrived on her doorstep with a suitcase full of strategy and vengeance. It tipped its hat at her and hopped into her brain. It knocked on the Logic Department's door. It found a broken mirror somewhere in the crevices between her hippocampus and her hypothalamus, and it was wondering if somebody had misplaced it. No retaliation? It scoffed. Think again, missy.

Ricky just listens. He isn't shocked. He isn't surprised. He listens to me because he knows. He knows the shame and the guilt and the sorrow and the rage. And he does not judge me. He just listens.

She had spent the majority of her days in some sort of a tizzy and had developed over the course of her life a tizzy repertoire of abundant variety, from the black depressive tizzy to the anxious weepy tizzy to the more traditional furious tizzy, which almost always involved projectiles.

She shoved her to the dirty floor and pressed an open palm against her shoulder to hold her down while her rage and sorrow blossomed into a glistening thorn.

Since boyhood, fury had become his father. His older brother. His only protector. Fury gave him strength and courage and spurred him to always move forward despite always getting things wrong and always failing and no mentor there to help him or teach him and everyone always laughing. Anger delivered him from catastrophe. Rage kept him from going under. It had come to be his greatest asset and only strategy.

Some people take offense like it's a limited time offer.

Sometimes a moment of survival is about navigating between rage and joy

She was rage and vengeance, wrath and malice, in beautifully twisted human form.

Rage wrapped itself around her like a tourniquet, keeping her alive even as it condemned a part of her to atrophy.

Some were filled with pride. Some were filled with hope. Some were filled rage. But all of them screamed

somewhere under the rage, there's something human. barely.

Spectre: Atrocitus? You wish to continue to fight? Atrocitus: If I must. You were chained to a human soul to understand humanity, but it is clear you understand it no more than the guardians. This man... This man lost his daughter. You have no emotional component to your judgement. For you, vengeance is simply eye-for-an-eye. But that convict's life did not equal the life of Kim's daughter. His "eye" is worth nothing compared to hers. Eye-for-an-eye is a fallacy. Spectre: You dare question my scripture? Atrocitus: You may be objective and calm in your judgments, Spectre, but once you pass them you are no longer haunted by their victims. But the victims are our families. And the hauntings never stop. No matter what blood has spilled, there will never be enough to balance the scales. So if you wish to judge James Kim, you must first judge me.

Suddenly Ammu hoped that it had been him that Rahel saw him in the march. She hoped it had been him that raised his flag and knotted arm in anger. She hoped that under his careful cloak of cheerfulness he housed a living breathing anger against the smug, ordered world that she raged against.

The Bloody-Nine opened his mouth, and shrieked out all of his bottomless love and his endless hate in one long wail.

The bridge out of shame is outrage. Suddenly the obvious becomes stunningly clear—we have been carrying shame for the crime of the offender…In a clear flash we may see ourselves standing in a fierce stance, grounded by our knowledge, ready to throw off any wrongdoer. Our outrage can be a fueling energy, capable of making us as steely as we need to be.

The deal is this. You be the hero. Come down here. Unarmed. Come inside with your hands on your head. I'll let everybody go. Then I'll blow your fucking head off. Sir. How's that for a deal? You buy it?

The gesture was so tight with rage she feared she’d snap and crack the world in two.

The most terrifying part was that the evil dwelling in those eyes could've gone unnoticed by many.

Some people, perhaps those with more dignity and less rage gnawing at the roots of their being, are nicer as failures, For me, it was like descending a deep pit that had no bottom

The darkness, the rage. One allows you to see the stars, the other gives you a false strength. But in the end both of which bring great torment.

The racism, misogyny, and counter-rationality of the reactionary right in American politics for the last several years is a frightening exhibition of the destructive force of anger deliberately nourished by hate, encouraged to rule thought, invited to control behavior. I hope our republic survives this orgy of self-indulgent rage.

Their hatred was the twisted metal of a train wreck, all blistering heat and tangled beams as solid lines mutated into something irrevocably changed.

There is something above this rage, aggression.

The seething rage that accompanies the truly despondent, effaces the delusional that mock from the safety of their shared illusion.

The splendor of that moment, its transcendent glory and aliveness, haunted him. He could thrust it aside by day, but it poisoned his dreams by night, calling to him and pleading with him to unlock the chains he'd bound about it.

The task— especially for the newly awakened, the newly angry, especially for the white women, for whom incentives to renounce their rage will be highest in coming years—is to keep going, to not turn back, to not give in to the easier path, the one where we weren’t angry all the time, where we accepted the comforts of racial and economic advantage that will always be on offer to those who don’t challenge power. Our job is to stay angry . . . perhaps for a very long time.

The whirlwind in his brain—which had so many times tugged his pituitary in ways that made him TAKE instead of GIVE— subsided for the very first time. Tightness in his crotch usually corresponded with a tightness in his gut, making him want to CONTROL, to CHOKE, to SUBDUE... but not this time. Not ever again.

The world’s most lethal venom is not found on the tongues of serpents, but on the tongues of a disgruntled wife.

The purge is made to release the aggression, anger, rage everything just in on place.

The rage for railroads is so great that many will be laid in parts where they will not pay.

There is a rage inside me that I mitigate with my constant drawing.

There is one hour in his life when we see a flash of utter physical action on Christ's part, an hour when this most curious of men must have experienced the sheer joyous exuberance of a young mammal in full flight: when he lets himself go and flings over the first money changer's table in the Temple at Jerusalem, coins flying, doves thrashing into the air, oxen bellowing, sheep yowling, the money changer going head-over-teakettle, all heads turning, what the...? You don't think Christ got a shot of utter childlike physical glee at that moment? Too late to stop now, his rage rushing to his head, his veiny carpenter's-son wiry arms and hard feet milling as he whizzes through the Temple overturning tables, smashing birdcages, probably popping a furious money-changer here and there with a quick left jab or a well-placed Divine Right Elbow to the money-lending teeth, whipping his scourge of cords against the billboard-size flank of an ox, men scrambling to get out of the way, to grab some of the flying coins, to get a punch in on this nutty rube causing all the ruckus... In all this holy rage and chaos, don't you think there was a little absolute boyish mindless physical jittery joy in the guy?

The word I use is hubris. Our word for arrogance that scrapes the stars, for violence and towering rage as ugly as the gods.

Three things lit her match without fail—abusive assholes, idiots who didn’t use their turn signals, and unannounced shifters moving in on her territory.

Timidity is the silent acceptance of bondage

Tisiphone stood silent and helpless in Alicia's mind. It was all she could do to keep Alicia's blind savagery from dragging Megaira under and clouding the lightning-fast reflexes which kept them both alive. She'd never guessed what she was creating, never imagined the monster she'd spawned. She'd seen the power of Alicia DeVries's mind without recognizing the controls which kept that power in check, and only now had she begun to understand fully what she had done. She had shattered those controls. The compassion and mercy she'd feared no longer existed, only the red, ravening hunger. Yet terrible as that might be, there was worse. She'd found the hole Alicia had gnawed through the wall about her inner rage, and she couldn't close it. Somehow, without even realizing it was possible, Alicia had reached beyond herself. She'd followed Tisiphone's connection to the Fury's own rage, her own destruction, and made that incalculable power hers as well. For the first time in millennia, Tisiphone faced another as powerful as herself, a mortal mind which had stolen the power of the Furies themselves, and that power had driven it mad.

Tunc enim robustius contra vitia erigitur, cum subdita rationi famulatur.

Two years ago. To the best of my recollection, that was about the time I started to lose my mind.