“’Tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune, must fall out with men too. What the declin’d is, he shall as soon read in the eyes of others as feel on his own fall: for men, like butterflies show not their mealy wings but to the summer; and not a man, for being simply man, hath any honour; but honour for those honours that are without him, as place, riches, and favour, prizes of accident as oft as merit: which when they fall, as being slippery standers, the love that lean’d on them as slippery too, do one pluck down another, and together die in the fall.” – William Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida 3.3