Richelle Mead Quotes

Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.

I'd rather be mad than feel pleasure.

I am...sad and angry. Why is my spirit so sad and angry? I look back at my life and all I can remember is rage and rage and rage.

You get into moods - like, if somebody does something to you, then you're angry for maybe 30 seconds, or maybe 30 years. I was always interested in capturing those awful, unflattering things that everybody goes through - those hot moments, captured in ice.

I'm always weeping at something or other.

My father's death, my move, and my frightening and difficult delivery created a tremendous amount of stress, pain, and sadness for me. I was practically devastated beyond recovery.

Anger is the most impotent of passions. It effects nothing it goes about, and hurts the one who is possessed by it more than the one against whom it is directed.

I was an angry kid.

I've always turned my anger inwards towards self-destruction.

The poor monkey, quietly seated on the ground, seemed to be in sore trouble at this display of anger.

Anger is energising. The opposite of anger is depression, which is anger turned inward.

If your heart is a volcano, how shall you expect flowers to bloom?

Anger tears me up inside... My own... or anyone else's.

People get so stressed and nervous and mad.

How can we love days that are filled with sorrow? We can't - at least not in the moment.

I have sadness in me. I have anger in me. I have heartbreak in me.

I used to write out of angst. My writing was quite miserable, quite angry, even when it was funny. It was based on this sadness and tired emotional disdain for the world.

Sometimes I feel evil!

I have a very high frequency of anger, and a very high frequency of sadness.

Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.

Therefore, to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness. I hope you're getting this down.

I am becoming used to an overwhelming, grinding mixture of anger and worry.

I know that you cannot hate other people without hating yourself.

The confusing lesson whipped Frankie's anger into something she had never felt before. It was like an emotional meringue - the airy feeling of loneliness topped with the hard crisp of injustice. Yet its taste was far from sweet.

Sometimes it made her want to put her fist through glass; other times, it made her cry a river.