People seem to think of me as a goody-goody who never curses, but I can be very nasty if I'm pushed. Cross me too many times, and I'll never talk to you again.
Well it's the hurt I hide that fuels the fires inside me
You never get mad,” she said when their server left the table. “Except at me.” “That’s not true,” he said tightly. “Torie can get me going.” “Torie doesn’t count. You were obviously her mother in a previous life.
On the surface I'm a mild mannered person, that's until you scratch the animal inside.
I think there's a tremendous amount of unacknowledged hostility in American culture.
I'm like always smiling but I'm superaggressive. I have like a different type of chip on my shoulder.
I saw something in his pretty green eyes that I had never seen before: Anger. They were like emerald fire
People don't know that when there is something running in my mind, I start smiling. If I'm angry, I smile and blush.
It's hard to be happy for someone when you know deep down they'd kill you if they had the chance.
Beware the ire of the calm.
This is passive-aggression in action.
The symbol of the race ought to be a human being carrying an ax, for every human being has one concealed about him somewhere, and is always seeking the opportunity to grind it.
Samuel Langhorne Clemens, 1835-1910
THE POISON TREE I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe; I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I water'd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears; And I sunned it with my smiles And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night, Till it bore an apple bright; And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine, And into my garden stole When the night had veil'd the pole: In the morning glad I see My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.
I have to force myself to get angry. But I want to show the world that there's another side to me, that I am capable of deep, deep anger and fury. They better watch out for how I'm treated.
I had my yob periods. Nothing violent but certainly loutish. I think it's frustrated intelligence. Imagine that if you were really intelligent and everyone treated you as though you were stupid and no one tried to teach you anything -- the sort of deep subliminal rage that would get going in you. But then once it gets going, you make a strength out of what you know is your weakness, which is that you are undeveloped.
I know I probably have a lot of rage in me that I don't show. But I'm not about to wallow in it or reveal it.
Family dinners are more often than not an ordeal of nervous indigestion, preceded by hidden resentment and ennui and accompanied by psychosomatic jitters.
