Raged Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
desire-blazed-passion-raged-donna-grant
i-wished-to-see-storms-only-on-those-coasts-where-they-raged-with-most-violence-marcel-proust
they-will-say-me-in-lord-alone-are-righteousness-strengthall-who-have-raged-against-him-will-come-to-him-be-put-to-shame-isaiah-4524
the-heathen-raged-the-kingdoms-were-moved-he-uttered-his-voice-the-earth-melted
if-youve-raged-if-youve-mistreated-somebody-if-youve-ever-thought-only-about-yourself-these-are-things-that-all-human-beings-struggle-with-judge-themselves-for
have-you-considered-that-system-holy-lies-pious-frauds-that-has-raged-triumphed-for-1500-years-john-adams
the-man-up-there-raged-aloud-in-two-languages-with-sincerity-in-his-fury-that-almost-convinced-me-i-had-in-some-way-sinned-against-harmony-universe-joseph-conrad
have-you-considered-that-system-of-holy-lies-and-pious-frauds-that-has-raged-and-triumphed-for-1500-years
i-didnt-care-about-anything-except-her-way-touching-her-drove-me-wild-even-as-her-calm-steady-presence-soothed-storms-that-raged-within-me-richelle-mead
therefore-my-fierce-anger-was-poured-out-it-raged-against-towns-judah-streets-jerusalem-made-them-desolate-ruins-they-are-today-jeremiah-446
we-were-poor-my-mother-i-living-in-world-doom-gloom-pessimism-bitterness-where-storms-raged-wolves-scratched-at-door
in-newspapers-row-about-prospect-genetically-modified-food-raged-on-yet-here-were-consumers-effectively-demanding-lambs-with-four-back-legs-rose-prince
but-though-persecuting-malice-raged-yet-gospel-shone-with-resplendent-brightness-firm-as-impregnable-rock-withstood-attacks-its-boisterous-john-foxe
a-hint-sensual-frustration-roughened-his-voice-and-i-will-curse-gods-along-with-them-min-some-wild-monsoon-raged-through-me-as-i-looked-at-you-just-now-its-left-me-rearranged-ins
accepting-reality-our-sinfulness-means-accepting-our-authentic-self-judas-could-not-face-his-shadow-peter-could-the-latter-befriended-impostor-within-former-raged-against-him-bre
Three miles from my adopted city lies a village where I came to peace. The world there was a calm place, even the great Danube no more than a pale ribbon tossed onto the landscape by a girl's careless hand. Into this stillness I had been ordered to recover. The hills were gold with late summer; my rooms were two, plus a small kitchen, situated upstairs in the back of a cottage at the end of the Herrengasse. From my window I could see onto the courtyard where a linden tree twined skyward - leafy umbilicus canted toward light, warped in the very act of yearning - and I would feed on the sun as if that alone would dismantle the silence around me. At first I raged. Then music raged in me, rising so swiftly I could not write quickly enough to ease the roiling. I would stop to light a lamp, and whatever I'd missed - larks flying to nest, church bells, the shepherd's home-toward-evening song - rushed in, and I would rage again. I am by nature a conflagration; I would rather leap than sit and be looked at. So when my proud city spread her gypsy skirts, I reentered, burning towards her greater, constant light. Call me rough, ill-tempered, slovenly- I tell you, every tenderness I have ever known has been nothing but thwarted violence, an ache so permanent and deep, the lightest touch awakens it... It is impossible to care enough. I have returned with a second Symphony and 15 Piano Variations which I've named Prometheus, after the rogue Titan, the half-a-god who knew the worst sin is to take what cannot be given back. I smile and bow, and the world is loud. And though I dare not lean in to shout Can't you see that I'm deaf? - I also cannot stop listening.

Rita Dove
three-miles-from-my-adopted-city-lies-village-where-i-came-to-peace-the-world-there-was-calm-place-even-great-danube-no-more-than-pale-ribbon-tossed-onto-landscape-by-girls-carel
nothing-was-inevitable-she-had-not-chosen-this-way-it-was-her-fate-it-had-been-decided-since-before-time-began-it-had-been-decided-before-she-began-nothing-could-be-done-there-wa
The Mercy The ship that took my mother to Ellis Island eighty-three years ago was named "The Mercy." She remembers trying to eat a banana without first peeling it and seeing her first orange in the hands of a young Scot, a seaman who gave her a bite and wiped her mouth for her with a red bandana and taught her the word, "orange, " saying it patiently over and over. A long autumn voyage, the days darkening with the black waters calming as night came on, then nothing as far as her eyes could see and space without limit rushing off to the corners of creation. She prayed in Russian and Yiddish to find her family in New York, prayers unheard or misunderstood or perhaps ignored by all the powers that swept the waves of darkness before she woke, that kept "The Mercy" afloat while smallpox raged among the passengers and crew until the dead were buried at sea with strange prayers in a tongue she could not fathom. "The Mercy, " I read on the yellowing pages of a book I located in a windowless room of the library on 42nd Street, sat thirty-one days offshore in quarantine before the passengers disembarked. There a story ends. Other ships arrived, "Tancred" out of Glasgow, "The Neptune" registered as Danish, "Umberto IV, " the list goes on for pages, November gives way to winter, the sea pounds this alien shore. Italian miners from Piemonte dig under towns in western Pennsylvania only to rediscover the same nightmare they left at home. A nine-year-old girl travels all night by train with one suitcase and an orange. She learns that mercy is something you can eat again and again while the juice spills over your chin, you can wipe it away with the back of your hands and you can never get enough.

Philip Levine
the-mercy-the-ship-that-took-my-mother-to-ellis-island-eightythree-years-ago-was-named-the-mercy-she-remembers-trying-to-eat-banana-without-first-peeling-it-seeing-her-first-oran
No, " Foyle roared. "Let them hear this. Let them hear everything." "You're insane, man. You've handed a loaded gun to children." "Stop treating them like children and they'll stop behaving like children. Who the hell are you to play monitor?" "What are you talking about?" "Stop treating them like children. Explain the loaded gun to them. Bring it all out into the open." Foyle laughed savagely. "I've ended the last star-chamber conference in the world. I've blown that last secret wide open. No more secrets from now on... No more telling the children what's best for them to know... Let 'em all grow up. It's about time." "Christ, he is insane." "Am I? I've handed life and death back to the people who do the living and the dying. The common man's been whipped and led long enough by driven men like us... Compulsive men... Tiger men who can't help lashing the world before them. We're all tigers, the three of us, but who the hell are we to make decisions for the world just because we're compulsive? Let the world make its own choice between life and death. Why should we be saddled with the responsibility?" "We're not saddled, " Y'ang-Yeovil said quietly. "We're driven. We're forced to seize responsibility that the average man shirks." "Then let him stop shirking it. Let him stop tossing his duty and guilt onto the shoulders of the first freak who comes along grabbing at it. Are we to be scapegoats for the world forever?" "Damn you!" Dagenham raged. "Don't you realize that you can't trust people? They don't know enough for their own good." "Then let them learn or die. We're all in this together. Let's live together or die together." "D'you want to die in their ignorance? You've got to figure out how to get those slugs back without blowing everything wide open." "No. I believe in them. I was one of them before I turned tiger. They can all turn uncommon if they're kicked awake like I was.

Alfred Bester
no-foyle-roared-let-them-hear-this-let-them-hear-everything-youre-insane-man-youve-handed-loaded-gun-to-children-stop-treating-them-like-children-theyll-stop-behaving-like-childr
Alone, [Chamcha] all at once remembered that he and Pamela had once disagreed, as they disagreed on everything, on a short-story they'd both read, whose theme was precisely the nature of the unforgivable. Title and author eluded him, but the story came back vividly. A man and a woman had been intimate friends (never lovers) for all their adult lives. On his twenty-first birthday (they were both poor at the time) she had given him, as a joke, the most horrible, cheap glass vase she could find, in colours a garish parody of Venetian gaiety. Twenty years later, when they were both successful and greying, she visited his home and quarrelled with him over his treatment of a mutual friend. In the course of the quarrel her eye fell upon the old vase, which he still kept in pride of place on his sitting-room mantelpiece, and, without pausing in her tirade, she swept it to the floor, crushing it beyond hope of repair. He never spoke to her again; when she died, half a century later, he refused to visit her deathbed or attend her funeral, even though messengers were sent to tell him that these were her dearest wishes. 'Tell her, ' he said to the emissaries, 'that she never knew how much I valued what she broke.' The emissaries argued, pleaded, raged. If she had not known how much meaning he had invested in the trifle, how could she in all fairness be blamed? And had she not made countless attempts, over the years, to apologize and atone? And she was dying, for heaven's sake; could not this ancient, childish rift be healed at last? They had lost a lifetime's friendship; could they not even say goodbye? 'No, ' said the unforgiving man. - 'Really because of the vase? Or are you concealing some other, darker matter?' - 'It was the vase, ' he answered, 'the vase, and nothing but.' Pamela thought the man petty and cruel, but Chamcha had even then appreciated the curious privacy, the inexplicable inwardness of the issue. 'Nobody can judge an internal injury, ' he had said, 'by the size of the superficial wound, of the hole.

Salman Rushdie
alone-chamcha-all-at-once-remembered-that-he-pamela-had-once-disagreed-as-they-disagreed-on-everything-on-shortstory-theyd-both-read-whose-theme-was-precisely-nature-unforgivable
Kiril glanced around the darkened room. He walked to a leather chair and sat, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles. 'Did you know that during the Fae Wars the Dark took two Dragon Kings? At different times, of course.' 'I suppose they escaped as well? Are you telling me we don't know how to hold a Dragon King?' 'The Dark did... things to my brethren. One completely lost his mind and attacked us, which is what the Dark wanted. He had to be killed. The other King knew what was happening to him, but he couldna stop it. He came to us and begged to be killed before he could harm one of us.' Shara sipped her whisky before she said, 'You lost two Kings and I lost seven siblings.' 'And the Light the Dark took?' 'The Dark take the Light and the Light take the Dark.' Kiril let his gaze drift down her body. How he itched to have her long legs wrapped around him. Things would be so much easier if he didn't desire her as he did, but there wasn't a switch he could flip and turn off his body's reaction. The more he tried to ignore the growing desire, the more it raged uncontrollably within him. He gave himself a mental shake and returned to their conversation. 'What's the plan, then? Will the Dark storm in here and try to capture me?' Shara walked around the room, her hand skimming along the backs of the chairs. 'No.' 'No?' Kiril set aside his glass on the table next to him and silently rose to his feet. He followed her as if a string tied them together. 'What then?' 'You don't really want to know.' Kiril spun her around so hard that her glass flew from her hand and landed upon a rug, spilling the whisky but not breaking the crystal. 'Tell me, ' he demanded in a soft, deadly voice. 'My job is to seduce you.' She held her stance for a heartbeat before she retreated, taking two steps back. He tracked her until she was once more in the entryway. The shadows darkened everything, and yet the smallest sliver of moonlight found her, illuminating her in a pale blue glow. No longer could he deny what he wanted. Perhaps it was her confession. Maybe it was because he hadn't taken to the skies in weeks. Whatever it was, all he knew was that he had to have her or go up in flames. 'Then seduce me.

Donna Grant
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