#er

The mornings came hard, and our caddie master, Dick Millweed, had a temper that could make a hangover seem like a seismic fracture. He was a small man with a soft, friendly voice. He was not intimidating at all, until he lost it. In his defense, he took shit from all sides - from the members who wanted their favorite caddie and their preferred tee time, from the golf staff who wanted him to perform a million menial duties, and from us when we showed up bleary eyed and incoherent and sometimes didn't show up at all. And God forbid a caddie should stumble in late, because then Millweed's lips would begin to tremble and his blue eyes would explode from his head. They grew as large as saucers and shook as though his skull was suffering earthquake. And he appeared to grow with them. It was like some shaman or yogi trick. Pound for pound, I've never met anyone else who could so effectively deliver anger. He would yell, "You like fucking with me, don't you? You like making me look bad! You wake up and say, 'Today I'm gonna fuck with Millweed!' and it makes you happy, doesn't it?" And we had no choice but to stand there and take it - hang our heads and blubber apologies and promise never to be hung over again, never to show up late again, because he held the ultimate trump card _ he could fire us and cut us off from the golden tit. But once we were out on the course walking it off, the hanover and any cares associated with it (including Millweed) evaporated into the light mountain air. And after the round, with our pockets replenished and our spirits restored by the carefree, self-congratulatory ebullience of the uberrich, we were powerless to resist the siren song of clinking glasses, the inviting golden light of the street lamps and tavern windows in town, and the slopeside hot tubs steaming under the stars. We all jumped ship and dined, danced, and romanced the night away and then were dashed against the rocks of Millweed's wrath all over again the next morning. ↗

— John Dunn

#caddie #golf #john-dunn #loopers #quote

Some part of you will always ... fight to cling to life and experience all it has. That's why you're so reckless in the things you do. You don't hold back your feelings, your passion, your anger. It makes you remarkable. It makes you dangerous ↗

— Richelle Mead

#anger

Resentment is like a drug. Once you pick it up, it will only get worse and worse until you surrender and do the work to let it go. ↗

— Samantha Leahy

#addiction-recovery #anger #emotions #inspirational #recovery

You are so lucky I'm too tired to murder you right now. ↗

— Rachel Caine

#bite-club #eve-rosser #morganville-vampires #rachel-caine #anger

I like your anger,' the Hag said mildly. 'I like your resistance. It makes you less than courteous, but altogether more interesting. ↗

— Juliet Marillier

#resistance #anger

I'd never wanted to punch anyone as badly as I wanted to punch her right in her perfectly little surgically-altered nose. ↗

— Jessica Verdi

#anger

It should make you shake and sweat, nightmare you, strand you in the desert of irrevocable desolation, the consequences seared into the vein, no matter what adrenaline feeds the muscle its courage, no matter what god shines down on you, no matter what crackling pain and anger you carry in your fists, my friend, it should break your heart to kill. ↗

— Brian Turner

#regrets #revenge #anger

You may think that your only choices are to swallow your anger or throw it in someone's face. But there is a third option; you can just let it go. And only when you do that is it really gone, and you can move forward. ↗

— Ted Mosby

#attitude #choice #how-i-met-your-mother #hurt #let-go

Dreamers can't be tamed. ↗

— Paulo Coelho

#dreams #inspirational #dreams

I love going out of my way, beyond what I know, and finding my way back a few extra miles, by another trail, with a compass that argues with the map…nights alone in motels in remote western towns where I know no one and no one I know knows where I am, nights with strange paintings and floral spreads and cable television that furnish a reprieve from my own biography, when in Benjamin’s terms, I have lost myself though I know where I am. Moments when I say to myself as feet or car clear a crest or round a bend, I have never seen this place before. Times when some architectural detail on vista that has escaped me these many years says to me that I never did know where I was, even when I was home. ↗

— Rebecca Solnit

#journey #nature #wanderlust #architecture