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.