What valor were it, when a cur doth grin, for one to thrust his hand between his teeth, when he might spurn him with his foot away?
William ShakespeareBeauty's a doubtful good, a glass, a flower, Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour; And beauty, blemish'd once, for ever's lost, In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.
William Shakespeare