Quotes Tagged "rage"

He who takes offense when no offense is intended is a fool, and he who takes offense when offense is intended is a greater fool.

But his mind saw nothing of all this. His mind was engaged in a warfare of the gods. His mind paced outwards over no-man's-land, over the fields of the slain, paced to the rhythm of the blood's red bugles. To be alone and evil! To be a god at bay. What was more absolute?

Anger's like a battery that leaks acid right out of me And it starts from the heart 'til it reaches my outer me

It was awful to be Negro and have no control over my life. It was brutal to be young and already trained to sit quietly and listen to charges brought against my color with no chance of defense. We should all be dead. I thought I should like to see us all dead, one on top of the other. A pyramid of flesh with the whitefolks on the bottom, as the broad base, then the Indians with their silly tomahawks and teepees and wigwams and treaties, the Negroes with their mops and recipes and cotton sacks and spirituals sticking out of their mouths. The Dutch children should all stumble in their wooden shoes and break their necks. The French should choke to death on the Louisiana Purchase (1803) while silkworms ate all the Chinese with their stupid pigtails. As a species, we were an abomination. All of us.

On faith’s battered back calm eyes etch prayers that cool a nation’s hot rage.

Take that rage, put it on a page, take the page to the stage, blow the roof off the place.

But hate suits you, inspires you, You rage

No Rage, No Pain

we are threatened with suffering from three directions: from our body, which is doomed to decay..., from the external world which may rage against us with overwhelming and merciless force of destruction, and finally from our relations with other men... This last source is perhaps more painful to use than any other. (p77)

My music teacher offered twittering madrigals and something about how, in Italy, in Italy, the oranges hang on the tree. He treated me - the humiliation of it - as a soprano. These, by contrast, are the six elements of a Sacred Harp alto: rage, darkness, motherhood, earth, malice, and sex. Once you feel it, you can always do it. You know where to go for it, though it will cost you.

To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all the time.

Rage can be so common it turns ambient.

Depression is rage spread thin.

Rage is exciting, but leaves me confused and exhausted.

A fever is an expression of inner rage.

I long for the raised voice, the howl of rage or love.

The abandoned infant's cry is rage, not fear.

I watch the news. It fuels my rage; it informs my work.

Rage has such focus. It can't go on forever, but it's invigorating.

Their rage supplies them with weapons.