Money lost, little lost. Honor lost, much lost. Pluck lost, all lost. - Jack Vance

Now, as to the persistence of superstition, only an impoverished mind considers itself the repository of absolute knowledge.

Alice put her hands on his shoulder. “And now, what of you?”
“What of me, how?”
“You’re so quiet and subdued! You worry me. Are you well?”
“Quite well. Deflated, perhaps. I have been deserted by my enemies. Treesong is dead. The affair is over. I am done.”

“It’s not a knack at all,” said Jantiff. “I’ve had to practice for years.”
Tanzel said brightly: “Isn’t it elitism when someone tries to do something better can everyone else?”