The worst part of Leon’s fury was the way he whispered, this terrible tortured hissing from his mouth, giving his words a tone more deadly than a shout or a yell.
That night in bed I thought I heard that bee hum still going but it was just how angry I was. Some nights there was so much feeling in me head I was glad it couldn’t get out. Christ, you could burn a skyscraper down with what’s in me.
His particular kind of rage has always been very controlled, very quiet. The less he says, the angrier he is.
Her anger is still pure and white and electric, but she doesn’t feel the sadness of it at all.
Lily blamed her mother for her father’s death. And what was I, the instrument of her anger?
A student of the mind once explained to me that if you inflict your anger on inanimate things, you not only spare the living, as a civilized man ought to do, but you get rid of the bad stuff in you.
"Anger is a funny thing," Dr. Larch began, believing that anger was an unfunny thing.
The rage of the disesteemed is personally fruitless, but it is also absolutely inevitable: the rage, so generally discounted, so little understood even among the people whose daily bread it is, is one of the things that makes history.
Holding anger is a poison. It eats you from inside.
Rage cannot be hidden, it can only be dissembled. This dissembling deludes the thoughtless, and strengthens rage and adds, to rage, contempt.