Wait.

I dragged myself to my corner. I was aching all over. I felt a cool hand wiping the blood from my forehead. It was the French girl. She was smiling  her mournful smile as she slipped me a crust of bread. She looked straight into my eyes. I knew she wanted to talk to me but that she was paralyzed with fear. She remained like that for some time, and then her face lit up and she said, in almost perfect German: "Bite your lips, little brother.  Don't cry.  Keep your anger, your hate, for another day, for later.  The day will come but not now.  Wait. Clench your teeth and wait.

Elie Wiesel, from Night