From an old Italian saying... (Interpreted here in english)
All my life, I drank from my own glass
And I ate from my own plate,
Despite the many liars, I remain sincere,
Despite corruption and cruelty, I remain a poet.
Here's a counterpoint from Dante on the pain of exile:
You shall leave everything you love most dearly:
this is the arrow that the bow of exile
shoots first. You are to know the bitter taste
of others’ bread, how salt it is, and know
how hard a path it is for one who goes
descending and ascending others’ stairs.