Elizabeth Wurtzel Quotes

Conceived in anger, addicted to hate, the mutant child of a twisted state.

Anger is the most impotent of passions. It effects nothing it goes about, and hurts the one who is possessed by it more than the one against whom it is directed.

Rage-the biggest, truest rage of her adult life-had invaded her like a fever, but it wasn't like any fever she had known previously. It circulated like weird serum, cold on the right side of her body, then hot on the left, where her heart was. It seemed to come nowhere near her head, which remained clear.

I don’t understand hate. I’ve seen its power. I’ve known its wrath. I’ve even felt it coursing through my veins, pushing me on. But I don’t know where it comes from or why it lasts, how it can take hold in some people and grow.

Sadness is very close to hate.

He wanted to hit something or someone. He wanted to burn up the whole world, heal it, and burn it down again.

Twas something else. I had come to hate her, you see. I had come to wish her dead, and that was what held me back.

I am...sad and angry. Why is my spirit so sad and angry? I look back at my life and all I can remember is rage and rage and rage.

I may never let go of my wrath, my anger, but I will always have the last laugh.

Still, I hate them. But, of course, I hate almost everybody now. Myself more than anyone.

I wish that strife would vanish away from among gods and mortals, and gall, which makes a man grow angry for all his great mind, that gall of anger that swarms like smoke inside of a man's heart and becomes a thing sweeter to him by far than the dripping of honey.

Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.

Anger makes dull men witty, but it keeps them poor.

Anger tears me up inside... My own... or anyone else's.

When anger comes, there is no way of satisfying its demands

I go to bed angry every night, and I get up angrier every morning.

I used to be angry all the time and at everybody. I would get really violent.

I can hold on to that, that bitterness and that anger. It won't get me anywhere.

Sadly, I hate foreigners. And Americans. And animals. And flora, and some fauna. Also the magma that is the very core of this our mother earth. I'm full o' hate!

I drew the curtains to conceal the sight of my father's farewell; my spite was sharp as broken glass.

O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.

Uncontrolled temper is soon dissipated on others. Resentment, bitterness, and self-pity build up inside our hearts and eat away at our spiritual lives like a slowly spreading cancer.

I like fighting, but I hate hurting people.

Then it is also in my heart to be worthy of your hate.

My rage outweighs my shame, as always happens when one is really ashamed and knows he ought to be.