I will persist and develop my skills as the mariner develops his, by learning to ride out the wrath of each storm.
I was angry friend: : Itold my wrath,my wrath did end.
lust don't ignite his wrath or he could turn against you.
either because he had stolen wine orgave away the secrets of zeus,or because he had become so proud as to test the gods by serving up the flesh of his son pelopsto them,he incurred the wrath of zeus and was hurled down to the everlasting darkness of tartarus .
Why they faced the wrath of the entire British Empire.
A soft answer turneth away wrath.
At the same time, I observed, around both of them, splashes of dark blood upon the planks and began to feel sure that they had killed each other in their drunken wrath.
" Silver's face was a picture; his eyes started in his head with wrath.
When the Zhou power waned and China was bubbling, Emperor Xuan, up in wrath, waved his holy spear: And opened his Great Audience, receiving all the tributes Of kings and lords who came to him with a tune of clanging weapons.
In the Grapes of Wrath Steinbeck has achieved an interesting contrapuntal effect by breaking the narrative at intervals with short, impressionistic passages recorded as though by a motion picture camera moving quickly from one scene to another and from one focus to another.
Scott Westerfeld, Peeps, 2005 Dangerous is wrath concealed.
We can't afford to incur the wrath of the public.
At this dreadful news the Sultan was so overcome with rage and grief that it was with great difficulty that the grand-vizir managed to save the Sultana from his wrath.
" This advice appearing reasonable, Khacan decided to follow it, but his wrath against his son did not abate.
" I caught eagerly at these words, as giving me a faint hope of softening his wrath.
I appeased her wrath, and in a moment she transported me from the island where we were to the roof of my house, and she disappeared a moment afterwards.
Eddie Rickenbacker (1890 - 1973) Few men are willing to brave the disapproval of their fellows, the censure of their colleagues, the wrath of their society.
Listen to the bells playing their last tune, 'Turn from Us Thy Wrath, O Lord God of Mercy!
It sounds like a wail—it sounds like a sentence of wrath and condemnation, that must be heard far over the land, carried by the wind—sung by the wind—the wail that sometimes is silent, but never dies; for ever again it rises in song, singing even into our own time this legend of the Bishop of Børglum and his hard nephew.
