William Shakespeare Quotes About Anger
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Never anger made good guard for itself.
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'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.
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Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
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Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great. Oh! I could hew up rocks, and fight with flint.
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If there be devils, would I were a devil, To live and burn in everlasting fire, So I might have your company in hell, But to torment you with my bitter tongue!
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I understand a fury in your words But not your words.
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Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot that it do singe yourself.
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Anger is like A full hot horse, who being allowed his way, Self-mettle tires him.
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If it be you that stirs these daughters' hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger, And let not women's weapons, water drops, Stain my man's cheeks.
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Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.
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A turn or two I'll walk To still my beating mind.
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Men in rage strike those that wish them best.
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To be in anger is impiety, but who is man that is not angry?
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She speaks poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her; she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam bad left him before he transgressed.
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The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree.
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Anger's my meat. I sup upon myself, And so shall starve with feeding.
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Do not plunge thyself too far in anger.
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Beshrew the heart that makes my heart to groan.
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Be advised; Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it?
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You are yoked with a lamb, That carries anger as the flint bears fire; Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spank, And straight is cold again.
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My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.
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