Every victory shows a more difficult height to scale, a steeper pinnacle of god-like hardship--that's the reward of victory: it provides the hero with ever-new battle-fields: no rest for him this side the grave.
But what of defeat?
What sweet is there in its bitter?
This may be said for it; it is our great school: punishment teaches pity, just as suffering teaches sympathy.

In defeat the brave soul learns kinship with other men, takes the rub to heart; seeks out the reason for the fall in his own weakness, and ever afterwards finds it impossible to judge, much less condemn his fellow.

But after all no one can hurt us but ourselves; prison, hard labour, and the hate of men; what are these if they make you truer, wiser, kinder?
Have you come to grief through self-indulgence and good-living?
Here are months in which men will take care that you shall eat badly and lie hard.

Did you lack respect for others?
Here are men who will show you no consideration.

Were you careless of others' sufferings?
Here now you shall agonize unheeded: gaolers and governors as well as black cells just to teach you.