On Anger, Book 2, Section 35 — In Plain English

Seneca — The Senator

Picture anger like warriors dripping with the blood of enemies or wild beasts. Or like those about to slaughter them. Think of the mythical monsters poets describe — wrapped in serpents, breathing fire, emerging from hell to start wars and destroy peace between nations. Picture anger with eyes blazing like fire. Her voice hisses, roars, and grates with sounds worse than you can imagine. She waves weapons in both hands, not caring to defend herself. She's dark, blood-stained, covered in scars, bruised from her own blows. She staggers like a madman, wrapped in thick clouds, charging everywhere, spreading destruction and terror. Everyone hates her — and she hates herself most of all. If she can't hurt her enemy any other way, she'll tear down earth, sea, and sky. She's both dangerous and despised.

Seneca — The Senator Original

Let us paint anger looking like those who are dripping with the blood of foemen or savage beasts, or those who are just about to slaughter them—like those monsters of the nether world fabled by the poet to be girt with serpents and breathing flame, when they sally forth from hell, most frightful to behold, in order that they may kindle wars, stir up strife between nations, and overthrow peace; let us paint her eyes glowing with fire, her voice hissing, roaring, grating, and making worse sounds if worse there be, while she brandishes weapons in both hands, for she cares not to protect herself, gloomy, stained with blood, covered with scars and livid with her own blows, reeling like a maniac, wrapped in a thick cloud, dashing hither and thither, spreading desolation and panic, loathed by every one and by herself above all, willing, if otherwise she cannot hurt her foe, to overthrow alike earth, sea, and heaven, harmful and hateful at the same time.

Seneca — The Senator

Nothing will help you more than understanding two things about anger: how ugly it is, and how dangerous it is. No emotion looks more disturbing. It ruins the most beautiful face and turns a peaceful expression savage. When people are angry, "all grace has fled." Even if their clothes are stylish, they'll drag them on the ground without caring how they look. Even if their hair was perfectly styled by nature or by art, it will stick up wildly to match their wild mind. Their veins bulge. Their chest heaves from rapid breathing. Their neck swells as they scream out crazy words. Their limbs shake, their hands fidget, their whole body rocks back and forth. What do you think is happening in their mind when their outside appearance is so awful? How much more terrifying is the face they wear inside their chest? How much sharper their pride, how much more violent their rage — which will destroy them unless it finds some way out?

Seneca — The Senator Original

Nothing, however, will be of so much service as to consider, first, the hideousness, and, secondly, the danger of anger. No passion bears a more troubled aspect: it befouls the fairest face, makes fierce the expression which before was peaceful. From the angry "all grace has fled;" though their clothing may be fashionable, they will trail it on the ground and take no heed of their appearance; though their hair be smoothed down in a comely manner by nature or art, yet it will bristle up in sympathy with their mind. The veins become swollen, the breast will be shaken by quick breathing, the man's neck will be swelled as he roars forth his frantic talk: then, too, his limbs will tremble, his hands will be restless, his whole body will sway hither and thither. What, think you, must be the state of his mind within him, when its appearance without is so shocking? how far more dreadful a countenance he bears within his own breast, how far keener pride, how much more violent rage, which will burst him unless it finds some vent?