The anger of the weak never goes away, Professor, it just gets a little mouldy. It moulds like a beautiful blue cheese in the dark, growing stronger and more interesting. The poor and the weak die with all their anger intact and probably those angers go on growing in the dark of the grave like the hair and the nails.

Marge Piercy (b. 1936) American poet, novelist, social activist

Woman on the Edge of Time (1976)