IF vacillation dwell with the heart the soul
    will rue it.  Shame and honour clash where the
    courage of a steadfast man is motley like the
    magpie.  But such a man may yet make merry, for
    Heaven and Hell have equal part in him.  Infidelity's
    friend is black all over and take on a murky hue,
    while the man of loyal temper holds on to the white.

    This winged comparison is too swift for unripe
    wits. They lack the power to grasp it.  For it 
    will wrench past them like a startled hare! So it
    is with a dull mirror or a blind man's dream. These
    reveal faces in dim outline: but the dark image 
    does not abide, it gives but a moment's joy.  Who
    tweaks my palm where never a hair did grow?  He
    would have learnt close grips indeed!  Were I to
    cry 'Oh!' in fear of that it would mark me as a
    fool.  Shall I find loyalty where it must vanish,
    like fire in a well or dew in the sun?

    On the other hand I have ye to meet a man so wise
    that he would not gladly know what guidance this
    story requires, what edification it brings.  The 
    tale never loses heart, but flees and pursues, 
    turns tail and wheels to the attack and doles out
    blame and praise.  The man who follows all these
    vicissitudes and neither sits too long nor goes
    astray has been well served by mother wit.

    - Wolfram Von Eschenbach - Parzival - Book I