me

In general I was a good kid. It usually took a lot to make me mad. But once I reached the boiling point, I lost all rational control. Totally without thinking, when my anger was aroused, I grabbed the nearest brick, rock, or stick to bash someone. It was as if I had no conscious will in the matter.

I don't like anybody to be angry with me. I'd rather have friends.

My first reaction every time I delve into an episode of history that I don't know very much about is... my first reaction is anger that my teachers never taught me about it.

There's a lot of anger in 'Queen of Denmark,' and that's me getting political.

It angers me when sustainability gets used as a buzz word. For 90 percent of the world, sustainability is a matter of survival.

If people think I'm angry, I don't want to burst anybody's bubble. I like sometimes for people to be afraid of me. But it's not really anger; it's discipline.

I find there's this weird anger thing: Someone will approach me at the bar and say, 'Hey, can I buy you a drink?' And I'll say, 'No, I'm okay.' And then all of a sudden, there's this male anger flip, where they go, 'Oh, you know what? I wasn't even gonna buy you a drink, 'cause you're not even that cute anyway,' and walk away.

Anger is a manifestation of a deeper issue... and that, for me, is based on insecurity, self-esteem and loneliness.

I have a right to my anger, and I don't want anybody telling me I shouldn't be, that it's not nice to be, and that something's wrong with me because I get angry.

I was filled with hate and anger. But during my trial, something decisive happened: Amnesty International adopted me as a prisoner of conscience, and it was an unbelievable feeling to know that there is someone fighting for you on the outside. Amnesty's 'soft' approach made me seriously consider alternatives to revenge.

Somebody hits me, I'm going to hit him back. Even if it does look like he hasn't eaten in a while.

I've chosen my wedding ring large and heavy to continue forever. But exactly because of that all the time that Dave and I have an argument I feel it like handcuffs, and on anger time I throw it in a basket. Poor Dave, he bought me three wedding rings already!

It seems to me that election season is just a Petri dish for anger and cynicism.

I have sadness in me. I have anger in me. I have heartbreak in me.

For me, comedy starts as a spew, a kind of explosion, and then you sculpt it from there, if at all. It comes out of a deeper, darker side. Maybe it comes from anger, because I'm outraged by cruel absurdities, the hypocrisy that exists everywhere, even within yourself, where it's hardest to see.

No one's banging down my door. People see the way I look, and they don't feel threatened, but they should watch out for me. They don't know there's a steel rod that drives me. I get ticked off, and the rage just gets me going. My motor is anger.

You want to see an angry person? Let me hear a cell phone go off.

My father was so very afraid. I felt it in the sting of his black leather belt, which he applied with more anxiety than anger, my father who beat me as if someone might steal me away, because that was exactly what was happening all around us.