The Eyes Those Silent Tongues Of Love.

The Pen Is The Tongue Of The Soul; As Are The Thoughts Engendered There, So Will Be The Things Written.

There's No Taking Trout With Dry Breeches.

Roque...lined His Men Up And Had Them Produce All The Clothing, Jewels, Money, And Other Objects That They Had Stolen Since The Last Time They Had Divided The Spoils. Having Made A Hasty Appraisal And Reduced To Terms Of Money Those Items That Could Not Be Divided, He Split The Whole Into Shares With Such Equity And Exactitude That In Not A Single Instance Did He Go Beyond Or Fall Short Of A Strict Distributive Justice. They Were All Well Satisfied With The Payment Received, Indeed They Were Quite Well Pleased; And Roque Then Turned To Don Quixote.

In The Night All Cats Are Gray.

By The Streets Of 'by And By,' One Arrives At The House Of 'never'.