Something for Sunday Morning

This deadly cancer of anger from which so much harm grows: It makes us unlike ourselves, makes us like timber wolves or furies from Hell, drives us forth headlong upon the points of swords, makes us blindly run forth after other men's destruction as we hasten toward our own ruin.

From what does such contrariness arise in habitually angry people, but from a secret cause of too high an opinion of themselves so that it pierces their heart when they see any man esteem them less than they esteem themselves? An inflated estimation of ourselves is more than half the weight of our wrath.

St. Thomas More