Suzanne Collins Quotes

Anger is never without an argument, but seldom with a good one.

I don’t respect your statement because of the anger that came with it

The phone rings. “Asshole,” she mutters. She picks it up. “Will you let me explain?” “No.” She hangs up.

Scott, if your life had a face, I would punch it. I would punch your life in the face.

I'm not a table-flipper.

But I like being nasty. I like being cranky. Especially if it's a cold day in Chicago, it's nice to just take it out on Kyle, because he's so easy to scream at, you know?

I'm not as impatient as I used to be. I used to hit people if I didn't like what they were saying. Just lash out. 'Bam - shut up! Hahahah!' I was terrible.

Okay, well, I guess I'm still a kid. Because when I get really angry and fired up and I feel like my back is up against the wall, I will say vicious things.

Nevertheless, I tend to get offensive easily.

I've never thought of myself as having that much of a temper. But it's true that I can't stand it when things are not done properly. When that happens, I cannot control my reaction.

No flipping tables over any more for me.

I have a bit of a temper.

When I'm angry, when I've got something to fight for, I'm charged up.

I have never fought in my life but I can be very angry, especially on the pitch.

I have an aggressive streak of my own.

For a moment Jack felt the strongest inclination to snatch up his little gilt chair and beat the white-faced man down with it.

Alex decided he’d had enough. He put down his knife. “All right,” he said. “You’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t want to work with me. Well, that’s fine. Because I don’t want to work with you either. And for what it’s worth, nobody would ever believe you were my mom because no mom would ever behave like you.” “Alex…,” Carver began. “Forget it! I’m going back to London. And if you’re Mr. Byrne asks why, you can tell him I didn’t like the jelly, so I went home to get some jam.

I kept a straight face while my inner Neanderthal spluttered and then went on a mental rampage through a hypothetical produce section, knocking over shelves and spattering fruit everywhere in sheer frustration, screaming, 'JUST TELL ME WHOSE SKULL TO CRACK WITH MY CLUB, DAMMIT!

It was the kind of talk that made me want to break off a limb and take to whacking her and that bunch of hypocrites across the back of the head.

What happened, then? You're stomping through every puddle you can find and look like you're going to punch the first person you see." "Why are you hanging around, then? Aren't you worried about getting hit?" "Aw, you'd never hurt me. My face is too pretty

Shut up, sod off, and let me in. (Fury)

why can't you just get out of here and leave me alone?"i bellowed. "i can't!" dylan shouted back,his face twisted with an anger i'd never seen from him. "you can,"i said through gritted teeth."just point your wings that way and flap!

You don't have to yell at me Schiavone. I'm not blind!

Hey!" I turned, crossing my arms and glaring. "I was talking to him!" Tybalt eyed me with amusement, which just made me glare harder. "No, you were inciting him to stab you with a toothpick. Again, the difference is small, but I think it matters.

Do you know what you’ve done?” I asked in a bland tone. Annette gave me an inquiring look. “You’ve gotten on my last nerve.” The table went crashing into her before she could blink, and then my fist found a home in her perfectly arranged hair.