"Anger is a killing thing: it kills the man who angers, for each rage leaves him less than he had been before - it takes something from him"
About this Quote
L'Amour frames anger not as a weapon but as a self-inflicted wound, which is a quietly radical move for a writer often associated with frontier grit and hard-bodied competence. The line has the cadence of a campfire maxim, but its trick is moral accounting: rage is portrayed as a cost you pay in pieces of yourself. Not "you might regret it later", but a more brutal proposition that every outburst is subtractive, a permanent withdrawal from your inner reserves.
The phrasing "a killing thing" flirts with melodrama, then corrects itself: the corpse isn't your enemy, it's "the man who angers". That turn is the subtextual payload. It reassigns blame away from whatever provokes you and onto the physiological and spiritual erosion that anger produces. L'Amour is less interested in politeness than in survival. Anger becomes another frontier hazard - like thirst, exposure, or a misread trail - something that feels energizing in the moment but quietly shortens your odds.
Context matters here. Writing in a mid-century American culture that often mythologized righteous fury (in war stories, Westerns, and tough-guy masculinity), L'Amour smuggles in an ethic of restraint without sounding therapeutic. He uses the language of depletion - "leaves him less", "takes something" - to make emotional control sound practical rather than pious. The intent is instruction: if you want to stay whole, don't spend yourself on heat.
The phrasing "a killing thing" flirts with melodrama, then corrects itself: the corpse isn't your enemy, it's "the man who angers". That turn is the subtextual payload. It reassigns blame away from whatever provokes you and onto the physiological and spiritual erosion that anger produces. L'Amour is less interested in politeness than in survival. Anger becomes another frontier hazard - like thirst, exposure, or a misread trail - something that feels energizing in the moment but quietly shortens your odds.
Context matters here. Writing in a mid-century American culture that often mythologized righteous fury (in war stories, Westerns, and tough-guy masculinity), L'Amour smuggles in an ethic of restraint without sounding therapeutic. He uses the language of depletion - "leaves him less", "takes something" - to make emotional control sound practical rather than pious. The intent is instruction: if you want to stay whole, don't spend yourself on heat.
Quote Details
| Topic | Anger |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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