Libba Bray Quotes

Why, instead of bringing order - planting a tree, building a house, washing socks or reading a fairytale to a child - does one need to engage in doing nothing, then after a good booze, taking up a club and smashing everything?

I don't remember what they said, only the fury of their words, how the air turned raw and full of welts. Later it would remind me of birds trapped inside a closed room, flinging themselves against the windows and the walls, against each other.

I wanted to kill her and make her eat her fringe. And her knickers.

There's in people simply an urge to destroy, an urge to kill, to murder and rage, and until all mankind, without exception, undergoes a great change, wars will be waged, everything that has been built up, cultivated, and grown will be destroyed and disfigured, after which mankind will have to begin all over again

I was a pretty angry kid, and I got into military history largely as a way to vent my own anger. As I got older it narrowed down to a more specific focus on individual violence. I'm just trying to understand where it came from.

War can be fun for certain people. It's a magnet for sadists, losers, and angry dreamers.

One of my problems is I am getting so mature that I have to pick up a TV and toss it through the coffee table just to remind people of who I am. I want to go ranting and screaming into the grave.

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

There was one point in time that I wasn't fighting, and I was frustrated and I was getting in trouble.

Awash in a flood of hostility and despair, they battled and railed and shattered their bodies on one another, unable to find one strand, one sobering swallow of solace.

He wanted to heave the glasses against the wall. Break them, break everything he could reach. Beat it, rend it. He stared out the window, imagined the city in flames, consumed to ashes. And still it wasn't enough.

Honey, no offense, but sometimes I think I could shoot you and watch you kick.

The world is a mess. The world is as angry as it gets.

I have a violence in me that is hot as death-blood.

Captain Niall, having apparently resigned himself to losing his quarry, was savaging her horsehair petticoat into teeny, tiny shreds. "Really, what did my poor petticoat do to offend?

Torn between the impulse to stroke his head, and the urge to cave it in with a rock, I did neither.

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.

I harbor a secret urge to whack a salesman in the face, crack his teeth and put red bumps around his eyes.

His heart, the war. Her face, the battlefield.

I'll throw a globe at you! You ever been hit by the world?!

Men in rage strike those that wish them best.

Our age has need of violence," he writes. And he is violence.

Angry men have little to live for when their rage becomes ineffective.

When we get out of this, I'm gonna shove my fist right into your ass, hard and fast Not in the sexual way! In the 'I am pissed off' sort of way.