"This is the whip of love."
"She's poisoned my breakfast and dinner, she keeps hiding behind doors and attacking me when I open them, and this morning she threw a snake at me."
— Jack Cannon, on his mother, The Fancy Adventures of Jack Cannon
"He's teaching prepubescent kids that truth matters, God doesn't, and life sucks. I like him.
— Gregory House, House
Short of her refusal to deal permanent injury or kill him, she barred no holds, showed no mercy, offered little kindness, if any. There wasn’t a thought to his morale, to the fact that she was systematically, methodically destroying the confidence he was building up. No. Not heartless, not wholly inconsiderate. She tore him down because she trusted him to pull himself back together, to rebuild that lost confidence and redouble his efforts. Nevertheless, this was one of those moments where he found himself hating her a little. His fondness for her shrunk a fraction. He felt, even though he’d asked for this, the slightest sense of betrayal. Nothing Tecton had said was new. He knew this stuff. Knew that walking down this road and continuing this training was going to hurt things between himself and Weaver in the long run. Somewhere along the line, their friendship would suffer. They’d dial up the seriousness of what they were doing, focus more on business than friendship. He knew. She knew.
— Golem, Worm
To let things slide for the sake of peace and friendship when a person has clearly gone wrong, and refrain from principled argument because he is an old acquaintance, a fellow townsman, a schoolmate, a close friend, a loved one, an old colleague or old subordinate. Or to touch on the matter lightly instead of going into it thoroughly, so as to keep on good terms. The result is that both the organization and the individual are harmed.
You keep on persevering if you’re not dead,
you can’t wait for the cheering just to get out of bed.
You learn from all the shit that hurts you instead
and never let it all get over your head.
— "Get Over It", by Matthew Patel
Baloo: A man's cub is a man's cub, and he must learn all the Law of the Jungle.
Bagheera: But think how small he is. How can his little head carry all thy long talk?
Baloo: Is there anything in the jungle too little to be killed? No. That is why I teach him these things, and that is why I hit him, very softly, when he forgets.
Bagheera: Softly! What dost thou know of softness, old Iron-feet? His face is all bruised today by thy...softness. Ugh.
Baloo: Better he should be bruised from head to foot by me who love him than that he should come to harm through ignorance.
—The Jungle Book: Kaa's Hunting