Let Everyone Turn Himself Around, And Look

There Is No Greater Folly In The World Than For A Man To Despair.

Reading Don Quixote Can Be Compared To An Indefinite Visit From Your Most Impossible Senior Relative, With All His Pranks, Dirty Habits, Unstoppable Reminiscences, And Terrible Cronies. When The Experience Is Over, And The Old Boy Checks Out At Last (on Page 846 - The Prose Wedged Tight, With No Breaks For Dialogue), You Will Shed Tears All Right; Not Tears Of Relief Or Regret But Tears Of Pride. You Made It, Despite All That 'don Quixote' Could Do.

There Is No Remembrance Which Time Does Not Obliterate, Nor Pain Which Death Does Not Terminate.

Where One Door Shuts Another Opens.

God Who Sends The Wound Sends The Medicine.