'And Tomorrow'
Today is filled with anger,
fueled with hidden hate.
Scared of being outkast,
afraid of common fate.
Today is built on tragedies
which no one wants to face.
Nightmares to humanity
and morally disgraced.
Tonight is filled with Rage,
violence in the air.
Children bred with ruthlessness
cause no one at home cares.
Tonight I lay my head down
but the pressure never stops,
knowing that my sanity
content when I`m droped.
But tomorrow I see change,
a chance to build a new,
built on spirit intent
of heart and ideas based on truth.
Tomorrow I wake with second wind
and strong because of pride.
I know I fought with all my heart
to keep the dream alive.
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And die of nothing but a rage to live.
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Another piece of advice: when you proofread cross out as many adjectives and adverbs as you can. You have so many modifiers that the reader has trouble understanding and gets worn out. It is comprehensible when I write: The man sat on the grass, because it is clear and does not detain one's attention. On the other hand, it is difficult to figure out and hard on the brain if I write: The tall, narrow-chested man of medium height and with a red beard sat down on the green grass that had already been trampled down by the pedestrians, sat down silently, looking around timidly and fearfully. The brain can't grasp all that at once, and art must be grasped at once, instantaneously. And then one other thing; you are lyrical by nature. The timber of your soul is soft. If you were a composer you would avoid writing marches. It is unnatural for your talent to curse, shout, taunt, denounce with rage. Therefore, you'll understand if I advise you, in proofreading, to eliminate the sons of bitches, curs, and flea-bitten mutts that appear here and there on the pages of Life.
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Do not go gentle into that good night.
RAGE, RAGE against the dying of the light.
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Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
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Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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We are threatened with suffering from three directions: from our own body, which is doomed to decay and dissolution and which cannot even do without pain and anxiety as warning signals; from the external world, which may rage against us with overwhelming and merciless forces of destruction; and finally from our relations to other men. The suffering which comes from this last source is perhaps more painful than any other.
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I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine. A rage, the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge in the other.
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Domine, libera nos a furore normannorum Sed praesepe, Domine, a humore eorum
Lord, save us from the rage of the Nordic people But especially, Lord, from their mirth
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Latent in every man is a venom of amazing bitterness, a black resentment; something that curses and loathes life, a feeling of being trapped, of having trusted and been fooled, of being the helpless prey of impotent rage, blind surrender, the victim of a savage, ruthless power that gives and takes away, enlists a man, and crowning injury inflicts upon him the humiliation of feeling sorry for himself.
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Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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The fact that the lower animals are excited by the same emotions as ourselves is so well established, that it will not be necessary to weary the reader by many details. Terror acts in the same manner on them as on us, causing the muscles to tremble, the heart to palpitate, the sphincters to be relaxed, and the hair to stand on end. Suspicion, the offspring of fear, is eminently characteristic of most wild animals. It is, I think, impossible to read the account given by Sir E. Tennent, of the behaviour of the female elephants, used as decoys, without admitting that they intentionally practise deceit, and well know what they are about. Courage and timidity are extremely variable qualities in the individuals of the same species, as is plainly seen in our dogs. Some dogs and horses are ill-tempered, and easily turn sulky; others are good-tempered; and these qualities are certainly inherited. Every one knows how liable animals are to furious rage, and how plainly they shew it. Many, and probably true, anecdotes have been published on the long-delayed and artful revenge of various animals. The accurate Rengger, and Brehm state that the American and African monkeys which they kept tame, certainly revenged themselves. Sir Andrew Smith, a zoologist whose scrupulous accuracy was known to many persons, told me the following story of which he was himself an eye-witness; at the Cape of Good Hope an officer had often plagued a certain baboon, and the animal, seeing him approaching one Sunday for parade, poured water into a hole and hastily made some thick mud, which he skilfully dashed over the officer as he passed by, to the amusement of many bystanders. For long afterwards the baboon rejoiced and triumphed whenever he saw his victim.
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If you know somebody is going to be awfully annoyed by something you write, that's obviously very satisfying, and if they howl with rage or cry, that's honey.
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The Islamic Republic is proud to be the target of the rage of the world's greatest Satan. in response to George W. Bush's assertion of Iran as part of an axis of evil
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Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
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Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rage at close of day; Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.
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I don't believe that the big men, the politicians and the capitalists alone are guilty of the war. Oh, no, the little man is just as keen, otherwise the people of the world would have risen in revolt long ago! There is an urge and rage in people to destroy, to kill, to murder, 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.
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Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
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In the dark colony of night, when I consider man's magnificent capacity for malice, madness, folly, envy, rage, and destructiveness, and I wonder whether we shall not end up as breakfast for newts and polyps, I seem to hear the muffled cries of all the words in all the books with covers closed.
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The enemy is like a woman, weak in face of opposition, but correspondingly strong when not opposed. In a quarrel with a man, it is natural for a woman to lose heart and run away when he faces up to her; on the other hand, if the man begins to be afraid and to give ground, her rage, vindictiveness and fury overflow and know no limit.
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"And Tomorrow"
Today is filled with anger,
fueled with hidden hate.
Scared of being outkast,
afraid of common fate.
Today is built on tragedies
which no one wants to face.
Nightmares to humanity
and morally disgraced.
Tonight is filled with Rage,
violence in the air.
Children bred with ruthlessness
cause no one at home cares.
Tonight I lay my head down
but the pressure never stops,
knowing that my sanity
content when I`m droped.
But tomorrow I see change,
a chance to build a new,
built on spirit intent
of heart and ideas based on truth.
Tomorrow I wake with second wind
and strong because of pride.
I know I fought with all my heart
to keep the dream alive.
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Any reviewer who expresses rage and loathing for a novel is preposterous. He or she is like a person who has put on full armor and attacked a hot fudge sundae.
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John Johnson Now this is something the other tour guides won't tell you. In this particular cell-block, Machine Gun Kelly had what we call in the prison system, a bitch. And one night in a jealous rage Kelly took a make-shift knife or shiv, and cut out the bitch's eyes. And as if this wasn't enough retribution for Kelly, the next day he and four other inmates took turns pissing into the bitch's ocular cavities. (short pause) This way to the cafeteria
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The grief of the keen is no personal complaint for the death of one woman over eighty years, but seems to contain the whole passionate rage that lurks somewhere in every native of the island. In this cry of pain the inner consciousness of the people seems to lay itself bare for an instant, and to reveal the mood of beings who feel their isolation in the face of a universe that wars on them with winds and seas.
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Lose/Win people bury a lot of feelings. And unexpressed feelings come forth later in uglier ways. Psychosomatic illnesses often are the reincarnation of cumulative resentment, deep disappointment and disillusionment repressed by the Lose/Win mentality. Disproportionate rage or anger, overreaction to minor provocation, and cynicism are other embodiments of suppressed emotion. People who are constantly repressing, not transcending feelings toward a higher meaning find that it affects the quality of their relationships with others.
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From the persistence of noise comes the insistence of rage.
From the emergence of tone comes the divergence of thought.
From the enlightenment of music comes the wisdom of... silence.
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Ever reviled, accursed, ne'er understood, Thou art the grisly terror of our age. Wreck of all order, cry the multitude, Art thou, and war and murder's endless rage. O, let them cry. To them that ne'er have striven The truth that lies behind a word to find, To them the word's right meaning was not given. They shall continue blind among the blind. But thou, O word, so clear, so strong, so pure, Thou sayest all which I for goal have taken. I give thee to the future! Thine secure When each at least unto himself shall waken. Comes it in sunshine? In the tempest's thrill? I cannot tell--but it the earth shall see! I am an Anarchist! Wherefore I will Not rule, and also ruled I will not be!
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The Standard of Truth has been erected. No unhallowed hand can stop the work from progressing. Persecutions may rage, mobs may combine, armies may assemble, calumny may defame. But the truth of God will go forth boldly, nobly, and dependent till it has penetrated every continent, visited every clime, swept every country, and sounded in every ear, until the purposes of God shall be accomplished and the Great Jehovah will say, The work is done.'
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I don't believe the war is simply the work of politicians and capitalists. Oh no, the common man is every bit as guilty; otherwise, people and nations would have rebelled long ago! There's a destructive urge in people, the urge to rage, murder, and kill. And until all of humanity, without exception, undergoes a metamorphosis, wars will continue to be waged, and everything that has been carefully built up, cultivated and grown will be cut down and destroyed, only to start all over again!
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