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Fury Quotes

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Fury Quotes

“...my father, [was] a mid-level phonecompany manager who treated my mother at best like an incompetent employee. At worst? He never beat her, but his pure, inarticulate fury would fill the house for days, weeks, at a time, making the air humid, hard to breathe, my father stalking around with his lower jaw jutting out, giving him the look of a wounded, vengeful boxer, grinding his teeth so loud you could hear it across the room ... I'm sure he told himself: 'I never hit her'. I'm sure because of this technicality he never saw himself as an abuser. But he turned our family life into an endless road trip with bad directions and a rage-clenched driver, a vacation that never got a chance to be fun.”

LoveMotherFightingFatherSilenceFamilyChildhoodCommunicationHeartbreakAbuseAngerScaredTerrorDivorceRageParentsSexismParenthoodFightHeartbrokenParents And ChildrenEmotional AbuseFuryMaliceChildhood MemoriesAbusiveMental AbuseFightsLove LostAbusive ParentsBroken Home
Book:Gone Girl
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“Erniedrigte Frauen funktionierten wie die Monsterkurve. Man knickte sie, knickte sie wieder, und sofort vervielfacht sich ihre Monstrosität, raumfüllend, selbstausweichend. Verlassene Frauen nahmen monströse Züge an. Verstoßene Frauen wurden zu Furien, zu Drachen, ein quasi natürlicher Prozess, der allerdings beinhaltete, dass diese Frauen auch schon zuvor als Drache respektive als Furie galten. Jeder wusste, dass es solchen Frauen nur recht geschah, man wunderte sich meist, dass es nicht früher dazu gekommen war, dass der Mann es überhaupt so lange ausgehalten hatte, kein Wunder, dass er nur noch wegwollte, volles Verständnis, zum Glück keine Kinder. Spürte sie denn etwas, das Wachsen von Hauern, von Hörnern, den triefenden Geifer, das schlangengleich kriechende, kringelnde Haar?”

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Book:Chor der Erinnyen: Roman | Die Parallelgeschichte zum Bestseller »Die Kieferninseln«
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“In this year of riots I am called to duty Through this year of angers I have gripped a meaning In this year of lies and angers burning out of control I went out and met history on its own terms And I have come back to tell you what I saw: Uprisings everywhere—they'll riot anytime—anything goes that'll feed a flame; Warnings unheeded—stopwatches hurtling—direct lies expected and received— Fires burning out of control in the streets "WHO'S THAT OUT THERE IN THAT STRANGE RED LIGHT?" "We call you to answer for your indiscretions, Mr. Johnson." The time has come for me to have it out with America on the battlefields of my ancestry. In my short lifetime I have seen America lose faith in her own greatness— This year of riots and angers burning out of control announces one great covenant broken: The summit once reached and past, the terror begins.”

AmericaHistoryLiesAngerFuryRiotsFiresUprisings
Book:Panic Grass
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“If she captured Tamlin’s power once, who’s to say she can’t do it again?” It was the question I hadn’t yet dared voice. “He won’t be tricked again so easily,” he said, staring up at the ceiling. “Her biggest weapon is that she keeps our powers contained. But she can’t access them, not wholly—though she can control us through them. It’s why I’ve never been able to shatter her mind—why she’s not dead already. The moment you break Amarantha’s curse, Tamlin’s wrath will be so great that no force in the world will keep him from splattering her on the walls.” A chill went through me. “Why do you think I’m doing this?” He waved a hand to me. “Because you’re a monster.” He laughed. “True, but I’m also a pragmatist. Working Tamlin into a senseless fury is the best weapon we have against her. Seeing you enter into a fool’s bargain with Amarantha was one thing, but when Tamlin saw my tattoo on your arm … Oh, you should have been born with my abilities, if only to have felt the rage that seeped from him.” I didn’t want to think much about his abilities. “Who’s to say he won’t splatter you as well?” “Perhaps he’ll try—but I have a feeling he’ll kill Amarantha first. That’s what it all boils down to, anyway: even your servitude to me can be blamed on her. So he’ll kill her tomorrow, and I’ll be free before he can start a fight with me that will reduce our once-sacred mountain to rubble.” He picked at his nails. “And I have a few other cards to play.” I lifted my brows in silent question. “Feyre, for Cauldron’s sake. I drug you, but you don’t wonder why I never touch you beyond your waist or arms?” Until tonight—until that damned kiss. I gritted my teeth, but even as my anger rose, a picture cleared. “It’s the only claim I have to innocence,” he said, “the only thing that will make Tamlin think twice before entering into a battle with me that would cause a catastrophic loss of innocent life. It’s the only way I can convince him I was on your side. Believe me, I would have liked nothing more than to enjoy you—but there are bigger things at stake than taking a human woman to my bed.” I knew, but I still asked, “Like what?” “Like my territory,” he said, and his eyes held a far-off look that I hadn’t yet seen. “Like my remaining people, enslaved to a tyrant queen who can end their lives with a single word. Surely Tamlin expressed similar sentiments to you.” He hadn’t—not entirely. He hadn’t been able to, thanks to the curse. “Why did Amarantha target you?” I dared ask. “Why make you her whore?” “Beyond the obvious?” He gestured to his perfect face. When I didn’t smile, he loosed a breath. “My father killed Tamlin’s father—and his brothers.” I started. Tamlin had never said—never told me the Night Court was responsible for that. “It’s a long story, and I don’t feel like getting into it, but let’s just say that when she stole our lands out from under us, Amarantha decided that she especially wanted to punish the son of her friend’s murderer—decided that she hated me enough for my father’s deeds that I was to suffer.” I might have reached a hand toward him, might have offered my apologies—but every thought had dried up in my head. What Amarantha had done to him … “So,” he said wearily, “here we are, with the fate of our immortal world in the hands of an illiterate human.”

PowerFateSonHumanRageInnocenceFeyreRhysandFuryFaeTouchTamlinWeaponFaeriesAmaranthaPunishWhorePragmatist
Book:A Court of Thorns and Roses
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“Now close your eyes and try to stop being angry. Try to stop raging at all those who deserve your righteous fury. Close your eyes and allow yourself, just for a moment, to simply feel the pain. To hesitate. To be confused. To feel sorrow. Remorse. You still have your whole life to spend persecuting, avenging, reckoning. But for now, just close your eyes and look inward, like a satellite hovering over a disaster zone, searching for signs of life. A lot has been taken away from you—but you’re still a human being. Wounded, bloodied, angry, hurting, frightened, drowning in sorrow, but still: human. Take a deep breath and try to remember the feeling. Because you know that a minute from now, when you open your eyes again, it’ll be gone.”

FeelingsPainHumanityHuman BeingsSorrowAngerRageBeingFuryHesitation
Author:Etgar Keret
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“Anger gets you into trouble, ego keeps you in trouble.”

InspirationalWritingSelfPhilosophyProblemWisdomMotivationalQuotesKnowledgeTroublePrideSpeechEgoAngerWittyWitMovieStoryTemperRhetoricOffensiveWrathSayingsCreative WritingSlogansFuryAmit KalantriSelf CenteredAmit Kalantri QuotesPublic SpeakingProverbsOutrageAggravationSocial NetworkingBloggingCharactersAmit Kalantri WriterAnger ManagementAdageIndignationNovel WritingOffenceBook WritingEssayIrritationScriptAdvertisementBlogAnnoyanceMovie DialogueCoolScript WritingCatchphrasesAlliterationsTag LinesScriptwritingCatch LinesSpeechwritingPunchlineVexationSelf CenterednessDispleasureExasperationSpleenRoad RagePiqueIrritabilityBileDyspepsiaShort TemperedCrossnessIrascibilityResentment RageWaspishnessAir RageCholerIll HumourIll TemperTestinessTetchiness
Book:Wealth of Words
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“If his men could have seen his young face under his faceplate, or if they could have heard the silent curses rolling off his tongue, they would have realized to their astonishment that their captain, only twenty years of age but already famous and formidable, was crying. Astrias's tears were tears of burning fury. The rage he felt that hour he would never forget for his whole life thereafter.”

WarFearTearsPrideAngerCryingFuryEmbarrassmentDishonorKaoru KurimotoThe Guin SagaCaptain AstriasFamous And Formidable
Book:The Battle of Nospherus
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“A child cannot quarrel with its elders, as I had done, cannot give its furious feelings uncontrolled play, as I had given mine, without experiencing afterwards the pang of remorse and the chill of reaction. A ridge of lighted heath, alive, glancing, devouring, would have been a meet emblem of my mind when I accused and menaced Mrs. Reed: the same ridge, black and blasted after the flames are dead, would have represented as meetly my subsequent condition.”

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Book:Jane Eyre
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“[I]n that white flower I was reminded of the blossoms I had grown up with...[I]t seemed the loveliest thing I had seen for many days, and I stood there staring at it. But as I continued stumbling over to the creek, I saw that the flower was no flower at all but rather a crumple of tissue, at its heart a smear of blood. I felt a sort of fury - first, rightly, that Esme should be so careless with disposing of her own trash, and second (and I admit less defensibly), that she should have spoiled for me an image so soothing.”

BloodFlowerPurityFurySpoiledPage 100People In The Trees
Book:The People in the Trees
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“—¡¿Me buscabais?! —Así es, Gryal Ibori. —¡Pues aquí me tenéis! —gritó furioso, con el alma ardiente y la voz quebrada. Estaba cansado de todo y de todos. Sólo quería ver a Lorette, reunirse con ella y estar a su lado. Y corrió hacia sus enemigos, como un león herido y rodeado, como un hombre que sólo tiembla por frío y sólo llora por amor. Su capa negra se deslizó en el viento, cual triste bandera, y Gryal cortó el aire con su espada ensangrentada.”

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Book:El retorno de Gryal
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“then things got even stranger. Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand. "What ho, Percy!" he shouted, and tossed the pen through the air. Mrs. Dodds lunged at me. With a yelp, I dodged and felt talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatched the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it wasn't a pen anymore. It was a sword-Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always used on tourement day. Mrs. Dodds spun toward me with a murderous look in her eyes. My knees were jelly. My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the sword. She snarled, "Die, honey!" And she flew straight at me. Absolute terror ran through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally:I swung the sword. The metal blade hit her shoulder and passed through her body as if she were made made of water. Hisss! Mrs. Dodds was a sand castle in a power fan. She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes were still watching me.”

Percy JacksonFuryPenOlympians
Author:Rick Riordan
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“...But the Mahommedan religion increases, instead of lessening, the fury of intolerance. It was originally propagated by the sword, and ever since, its votaries have been subject, above the people of all other creeds, to this form of madness. In a moment the fruits of patient toil, the prospects of material prosperity, the fear of death itself, are flung aside. The more emotional Pathans are powerless to resist. All rational considerations are forgotten. Seizing their weapons, they become Ghazis—as dangerous and as sensible as mad dogs: fit only to be treated as such. While the more generous spirits among the tribesmen become convulsed in an ecstasy of religious bloodthirstiness, poorer and more material souls derive additional impulses from the influence of others, the hopes of plunder and the joy of fighting. Thus whole nations are roused to arms. Thus the Turks repel their enemies, the Arabs of the Soudan break the British squares, and the rising on the Indian frontier spreads far and wide. In each case civilisation is confronted with militant Mahommedanism. The forces of progress clash with those of reaction. The religion of blood and war is face to face with that of peace.”

DeathJoyFightingHopeForceFearPeaceProgressInfluenceEmotionalCivilizationWeaponsMadnessIslamProsperityBritishIndianGenerousEcstasyCreedsIntoleranceMuslimFear Of DeathFuryMilitantPlunderReligious ViolenceArabsMad DogsTurksMohammedanReligious BloodthirstinessSoudan
Book:The Story of the Malakand Field Force
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“I would have my room,' Cardan said, narrowing his eyes and assuming his most superior pose. 'Perhaps you two might take whatever this is elsewhere.' Part of him thought she would laugh, having known him before he perfected his sneer, but she shrank under his gaze. Locke stood up, putting on his pants. 'Oh, don't be like that. We're all friends here.' Cardan's practiced demeanour went up in smoke. He became the snarling feral child that had prowled the palace, stealing from tables, unkempt and unloved. Launching himself at Locke, he bore him to the floor. They collapsed in a heap. Cardan punched, hitting Locke somewhere between the eye and the cheekbone. 'Stop telling me who I am,' he snarled, teeth bared. 'I am tired of your stories.' Locke tried to knock Cardan off him. But Cardan had the advantage, and he used it to wrap his hands around Locke's throat. Maybe he really was still drunk. He felt giddy and dizzy all at once. 'You're going to really hurt him!' Nicasia shouted, hitting Cardan's shoulder and then, when that didn't work, trying to haul him off the other boy. Locke made a wordless sound, and Cardan realised he was pressing so tightly on his windpipe that he couldn't speak. Cardan dropped his hands away. Locke choked, gasping for air. 'Create some tale about this,' Cardan shouted, adrenaline still fizzing through his bloodstream. 'Fine,' Locke finally managed, his voice strange. 'Fine, you mad, hedge-born coxcomb. But you were only together out of habit; otherwise, it wouldn't have been so easy to make her love me.' Cardan punched him. This time, Locke swung back, catching Cardan on the side of the head. They rolled around, hitting each other, until Locke scuttled back and made it to his feet. He ran for the door, Cardan right behind. 'You are both fools,' Nicasia shouted after them.”

Holly BlackFightThe Folk Of The AirCardan GreenbriarFuryCardanLockeNicasiaBrawl
Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“Cardan looks at me with helpless rage... The fury in his eyes is familiar, the glitter of them like banked fire, like coals burning hotter than flames ever could. This time I deserve it. I promised he was going to be able to walk away from the Court and all its manipulations. I promised he would be free from all this. I lied.”

Holly BlackThe Folk Of The AirJude DuarteCardan GreenbriarLiedFuryJudeCardanThe Cruel PrinceTricked
Book:The Cruel Prince
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“First, the wind would rumble in the distance like an approaching river, then he would see grass bend, pressed by a great invisible hand. The dull rumble would rise in pitch to a swishing, lashing exultation, causing stalks to lie flat against the ground while the tougher branches of shrubs held themselves up and shrieked their defiance in the gusts. Then the first drops, cold and heavy, would plummet from the sky and burst on the ground.”

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Book:Dawn of Wonder
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“He was so staggered that he started to laugh, but his laughter subsided almost at once, and in its place he felt a wave of fury and despair roll over him at the sheer inexorability of late-capitalist degradation not just of the environment, not just of civic institutions, not just of intellectual and political ideals, but worse, of his own expectations, of what he even felt was possible any more—a familiar surge of grief and helpless rage at the reckless, wasteful, soulless, narcissistic, barren selfishness of the present day, and at his own political irrelevance and impotence, and at the utter shamelessness with which his natural inheritance, his future, had been either sold or laid to waste by his parents’ generation, trapping him in a perpetual adolescence that was further heightened by the infantilising unreality of the Internet as it encroached upon, and colonised, real life—‘real life,’ Tony thought, with bitter air quotes, for late capitalism would admit nothing ‘real’ beyond the logic of late capitalism itself, having declared self-interest the only universal, and profit motive the only absolute, and deriding everything that did not serve its ends as either a contemptible weakness or a fantasy.”

ExpectationsCapitalismAngerPossibilitiesFuryDegradationImpotenceIrrelevanceLate Capitalism
Book:Birnam Wood
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