Red Rage Quotes & Sayings

I force my eyes upward and look at Mia for the first time. She's still beautiful. Not in an obvious Vanessa LeGrande or Bryn Shraeder kind of way. In a quiet way that's always been devastating to me. Her hair, long and dark, is down now, swimming damply against her bare shoulders, which are still milky white and covered with the constellation of freckles that I used to kiss. The scar on her left shoulder, the one that used to be an angry red weld is silvery pink now. Almost like the latest rage in tattoo accessories. Almost pretty. — Gayle Forman

One of the girls read somewhere that a red flag was the proper symbol for the oppressed workers, and so they mounted one, and paraded all about the yards, yelling with rage. A new union was the result of this outburst, but the impromptu strike went to pieces in three days, owing to the rush of new labour. — Upton Sinclair

I am a man who would live an heroic life and make the world more endurable in his own sight. If, in some moment of weakness,of relaxation, of need, I blow off steam-a bit of red-hot rage cooled off in words-a passionate dream, wrapped and tied in imagery_well, take it or leave it ... but don't bother me! — Henry Miller

"MAKE RED YOUR CLAWS WITH HUMAN BLOOD ... OBLITERATE THE HUMAN FILTH ... "
"Ooh, that's a nice song," said the Hogfly, ever polite. — Cressida Cowell

For herself, she wanted sleet and ice, howling winds, thunder to shake the very stones of the Red Keep. She wanted a storm to match her rage. — George R R Martin

Love can soften people, I believe that. But in me, now, love riles up an anger, a red-hot rage that crawls on my skin, seeps into my blood and brings out the worst in me. That's why everyone I love is better off loving me from afar. — Cecelia Ahern

Kaz heard Wylan retching. He tossed the eyeball overboard and jammed his spit-soaked handkerchief into the socket where Oomen's eye had been. Then he grabbed Oomen's jaw, his gloves leaving red smears on the enforcer's chin. His actions were smooth, precise, as if he were dealing cards at the Crow Club or picking an easy lock, but his rage felt hot and mad and unfamiliar. Something within him had torn loose. — Leigh Bardugo

The tears of those who never cry, the calm, the levelheaded ones, are terrible to see. She seemed to be split or torn by the force of the tears, which she squeezed her eyes shut against, which she forced back with her fist against her lips. Smokey, afraid and awed, came immediately to her as he might to rescue his child from a fire, without thought and without knowing quite what he would do. When he tried to take her hand, speak softly to her, she only trembled more violently, the red cross branded on her face grew uglier; so he enveloped her, smothered the flames, Disregarding her resistance, as well as he could he covered her, having a vague idea that he could by tenderness invade her and then rout her grief, whatever it was, by main strength. He wasn't sure he wasn't himself the cause of it, wasn't sure if she would cling to him for comfort or break him in rage, but he had no choice anyway, savior or sacrifice, it didn't matter so long as she could cease suffering. — John Crowley

Nothing is improved by anger, unless it be the arch of a cat's back. A man with his back up is spoiling his figure. People look none the handsomer for being red in the face. It takes a great deal out of a man to get into a towering rage; it is almost as unhealthy as having a fit ... Whatever wrong I suffer, it can not do me half so much hurt as being angry about it. — Charles Spurgeon

He's supposed to look out for you."
"I do!" Kieran sounded offended. "You should be proud of her. Hart requested her presence personally at the Drake coronation."
I closed my eyes briefly. We were doomed.
"You went to a vampire ceremony?" Grandpa asked evenly.
"He didn't know?" Kieran asked.
"No, he didn't."
"Sorry."
Grandpa vibrated with rage. "I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my family!"
"It's different now," Kieran tried to assuage him. "I'm dating Solange Drake. They're a good family."
Grandpa went red, then purple. Kieran took a step back. I whacked Grandpa between the shoulder blades.
"Grandpa, breathe! — Alyxandra Harvey

He sounds interesting," Savannah murmured.
Instantly Gregori could feel his muscles tighten. That black, nameless rage that made him so dangerous boiled in his gut. He would always live with the fear that he had stolen Savannah from another. That some other Carpathian male held the secret to her heart. That he had condemned another to death or,worse, to becoming the undead,because he had stolen Savannah. Since Gregori had manipulated the outcome of their joining, perhaps there was some other whose chemistry matched hers perfectly. His silver eyes were cold and lethal, small red flames leaping in their depths. "You do not need to find Savage interesting. I would never give you up, Savannah."
"Don't be an idiot, Gregori," she said impatiently. "As if I'd ever want some other beast just out of the cave when I've almost got you trained. — Christine Feehan

And she's thinking of rage, like an ember or a burning acid swallowing up her knotted viscera. Blindness like the kind that leads men to perpetrate horrors, animal drunkenness, the jungles of the mind. — Alden Bell

I know my face is turning red. I don't want you to interpret it as being embarrassed. It's rage. The color of my face is rage. — Zach Galifianakis

'Red Lanterns' is obviously about rage, but more it's about how rage affects people - alien and human. I'll be getting into the characters of some of those insane Red Lanterns whom we've generally only seen spitting vomit in the background. — Peter Milligan

I half hoped Mr. Pearson would waLk out holding Thomas by the scruff of his neck, still wearing his boxers or pajama pants or whatever the hell a guy like him slept in. But seconds later, when Mr. Pearson emerged, he was red with rage and completely alone.
Thomas was gone. — Kate Brian

Those who declared librarians obsolete when the Internet rage first appeared are now red-faced. We need them more than ever. The Internet is full of 'stuff' but its value and readability is often questionable. 'Stuff' doesn't give you a competitive edge, high-quality related information does. — Patricia Schroeder

Fuck! Sweat rolled down his spine as he covered the remaining distance at extreme speed.
She wasn't allowed to die, he thought, his rage dark red flame. Not until he'd flushed this vicious hunger for her from his system. — Nalini Singh

The Green Lanterns are very forward and very courageous, very forceful. The Red Lanterns are out of control, and they're not in their right mind because when we're angry or in rage, we say things and we do things we wouldn't normally do. — Geoff Johns

Anna despises two classes of people: first, those who own their own homes and have cars and families, and second, everybody else. Constantly she is on the verge of exploding. With rage. A pool of pure red. The pool is filled with speechlessness that talks away at her nonstop. — Elfriede Jelinek

Poncho was in a red mood slanging with rage and needed to cook himself out of it , while shoving handfuls of salted peanuts down his gullet and slurping ice cold Fanta — Saira Viola

Maurice," she croaked one last time, as loudly as she could. His eyes widened. "Rosalind?" he murmured. Then his face went red in a mask of rage and fury. "ROSALIND!" He — Liz Braswell

Red", I write "is the color of life. It's blood, passion, rage. It's menstrual flow and after birth. Beginnings and violent end. Red is the color of love. Beating hearts and hungry lips. Roses, Valentines, cherries. Red is the color of shame. Crimson cheeks and spilled blood. Broken hearts, opened veins. A burning desire to return to white. — Mary Hogan

Black wines have become the rage over the last 20 years. I prefer our wines to be red. — Christian Moueix

Polyphemus stiffened. "Who said that?"
"Nobody!" Annabeth yelled.
That got exactly the reaction she'd been hoping for. The monster's face turned red with rage.
"Nobody!" Polyphemus yelled back. "I remember you!"
"You're too stupid to remember anybody," Annabeth taunted. "Much less Nobody. — Rick Riordan

stood still and stared at them. 'Why do you stand gaping there?' cried the dwarf, and his ashen-grey face became copper-red with rage. He was still cursing when a loud growling — Jacob Grimm

A robin red-breast in a cage, puts all of Heaven in a rage. Think to yourself that every day is your last. The hour to which you do not look forward will come as a welcome surprise. As for me, when you want a good laugh, you will find me in fine state ... fat and sleek, a true hog of Epicurus's herd. — Hannibal

He saw her red eyes filled with tears of anger.
"Tell me why this rage?" He asked holding her in his arms. "Why do you fence for yourself so much?
She sighed and muttered, "Because all I really want is nothing but to be proved wrong. — Sanhita Baruah

You've already slept the entire day. Why not take over for Matthew now?"
"You really think I could sleep with your eyes devouring me all day?"
Her face turned red with rage and mortification. That faker! She had been staring at him at various times throughout the day. She probably had his face so memorized that she could sketch it without his being present. But he couldn't keep his knowledge of that to himself? He had to make sure she was embarrassed right down to her toes?
But he didn't rub it in further. At least,she thought he was done with the subject when he lay down on his seat and turned his back to her. "Get some sleep yourself," he ordered. "You'll need to be at your best tomorrow, too."
She was just lying down when he added, "And keep your eyes off my arse."
Waves of heat crept up to her cheeks. That pretty much guarenteed that she wasn't going to get any sleep until he was out of the coach. — Johanna Lindsey

I found myself hating him, wanting to hurt him, to drive him away from the red-haired girl who was supposed to be mine.
Breathless, I slumped to the wall, numb with the realization. This anger, these illogical feelings of rage and possessiveness ... I was jealous. I was jealous of a girl I was supposed to be stalking, seducing, for the sole purpose of revealing her true nature. This had become more than an objective, more than a mission.
I was falling for her. — Julie Kagawa

But his mind saw nothing of all this. His mind was engaged in a warfare of the gods. His mind paced outwards over no-man's-land, over the fields of the slain, paced to the rhythm of the blood's red bugles. To be alone and evil! To be a god at bay. What was more absolute? — Mervyn Peake

She will listen to BBC radio and hear the accounts of the deaths and the riots - "religious with undertones of ethnic tension" the voice will say. And she will fling the radio to the wall and a fierce red rage will run through her at how it has all been packaged and sanitized and made to fit into so few words, all those bodies. — Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Life is indeed colourful. We can feel in the pink one day, with our bank balances comfortably in the black, and the grass seemingly no greener on the other side of the fence. Then out of the blue, something tiresome happens that makes us see red, turn ashen white, even purple with rage. Maybe controlling our varying emotions is just 'colour management' by another name. — Alex Morritt

A little child, a limber elf,
Singing, dancing to itself,
A fairy thing with red round cheeks,
That always finds, and never seeks,
Makes such a vision to the sight
As fills a father's eyes with light ;
And pleasures flow in so thick and fast
Upon his heart, that he at last
Must needs express his love's excess
With words of unmeant bitterness.
Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together
Thoughts so all unlike each other ;
To mutter and mock a broken charm,
To dally with wrong that does no harm.
Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty
At each wild word to feel within
A sweet recoil of love and pity.
And what, if in a world of sin
(O sorrow and shame should this be true !)
Such giddiness of heart and brain
Comes seldom save from rage and pain,
So talks as it's most used to do. — James Gillman

Max felt his eye twitching. He knew he should be yelling, but his limbs wouldn't move. This was what it felt like to be paralyzed with rage. Yes, he was going to do it. He was going to finally go utterly psychotic and prove the whole town right. He was going to walk over to those arrogant assholes and take the first one apart. Then he'd beat the other one to death with his dead brother's leg. He looked to his own brother. Rye would save him from his towering rage. Rye would have calming words. Rye would talk him down.
Rye's face was red as he pointed at the young cowboys. You, kill now, Max. — Sophie Oak

In a flash, the previously lusty green irises morphed into an angry blood red. Nadua stood with a gasp, not sure what was happening to him. The horns that peeked out of his sandy brown hair began to alter their color as well, taking on the cast of burning embers. Razor-sharp fangs peeked out from his lips, twisted in rage. This was how he had looked when he was tearing through her men. — Kiersten Fay

Stop!" I sent my open hand sailing and slapped Talbot across his face.
He let go of the spear and stared down at me-that rage burning in his eyes. Then he blinked and clutched his palm over the red hand-shaped mark I'd left on his face. "What was that for!"
"He submitted.Let.Him.Go. — Bree Despain

Oh - shit!" I said again. There were two circular red patches on my cheeks. "I think I have some kind of allergic reaction."
"Only caused by rage," was Lesley's diagnosis when I told her what I saw. "How about your eyes? Are they flashing dangerously?"
I stared at my reflection. "Yes, sort of. I look a bit like Helena Bonham Caster as Bellatrix Lestrange in Harry Potter. Rather threatening."
"That sounds okay. Listen, you go out now and flash them at everyone for all you're worth, right? — Kerstin Gier

Former Dublin newsman Paul Lynch made his debut as a novelist a few years ago with a book called 'Red Sky in Morning,' set in mid-19th century County Donegal, where a rage-driven farmer has committed a murder with devastating results. — Alan Cheuse

Vesper felt herself turning red with humiliation. Then she looked at Allegra - really looked at her. Maybe she'd had such a problem with people not seeing her because she wasn't seeing them. Did Allegra's mask of rage hide pain and doubt that anyone would ever truly love her? She thought that it just might. Vesper didn't quite feel compassion, but she no longer took Allegra's behavior personally. — Colleen Chen

And yes, all of a sudden she was scared. It was like a yellow thread weaving in and out of the bright red overblanket of her rage. — Stephen King

She slapped him, quick and hard. His head turned slightly with the blow, but other than that his only reaction was the narrowing of his eyes. Her chest was heaving as if she were running. "No! You must go to London. You must get him out. You must save my brother because if you don't, I swear upon everything I hold holy that I'll ruin both you and your illustrious name. I'll - " "Little bitch," he breathed, his face turned fiery red, and he slammed his mouth against hers. There was no softness in him. He claimed her lips like a marauder: hard and angry. If she'd once thought him cold as ice, well, that ice was burned away now by the fire of his rage. — Elizabeth Hoyt

Many appear full of mildness and sweetness as long as everything goes their own way; but the moment any contradiction or adversity arises, they are in a flame, and begin to rage like a burning mountain. Such people as these are like red-hot coals hidden under ashes. This is not the mildness which Our Lord undertook to teach us in order to make us like unto Himself. — Bernard Of Clairvaux

His control lasted long enough for Larn to exit the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, Barson headed to the corner where a sand-filled potato sack was hanging from the ceiling. His hands clenched into massive fists, red-hot jealousy filling every inch of his body. Unable to contain himself any longer, he lashed out, punching the bag over and over again, until his knuckles were sore and sweat ran down his back. Pausing, he ripped off his tunic, and then continued, venting his rage with furious blows. — Dima Zales

People of very different opinions
friends who can discuss politics, religion, and sex with perfect civility
are often reduced to red-faced rage when the topic of conversation is the serial comma or an expression like more unique. People who merely roll their eyes at hate crimes feel compelled to write jeremiads on declining standards when a newspaper uses the wrong form of its. Challenge my most cherished beliefs about the place of humankind in God's creation, and while I may not agree with you, I'll fight to the death for your right to say it. But dangle a participle in my presence, and I'll consider you a subliterate cretin no longer worth listening to, a menace to decent society who should be removed from the gene pool before you do any more damage. — Jack Lynch