The Eyes Those Silent Tongues

The Virtuous Woman Must Be Treated Like A Relic - Adored, But Not Handled; She Should Be Guarded And Prized, Like A Fine Flower-garden, The Beauty And Fragrance Of Which The Owner Allows Others To Enjoy Only At A Distance, And Through Iron Walls.

All Of That Is True,’ Responded Don Quixote, ‘but We Cannot All Be Friars, And God Brings His Children To Heaven By Many Paths: Chivalry Is A Religion, And There Are Sainted Knights In Glory.’ Yes,’ Responded Sancho, ‘but I’ve Heard That There Are More Friars In Heaven Than Knights Errant.’ That Is True,’ Responded Don Quixote, ‘because The Number Of Religious Is Greater Than The Number Of Knights.’ There Are Many Who Are Errant,’ Said Sancho. Many,’ Responded Don Quixote, ‘but Few Who Deserve To Be Called Knights.

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.

To Think That The Affairs Of This Life Always Remain In The Same State Is A Vain Presumption; Indeed They All Seem To Be Perpetually Changing And Moving In A Circular Course. Spring Is Followed By Summer, Summer By Autumn, And Autumn By Winter, Which Is Again Followed By Spring, And So Time Continues Its Everlasting Round. But The Life Of Man Is Ever Racing To Its End, Swifter Than Time Itself, Without Hope Of Renewal, Unless In The Next That Is Limitless And Infinite.

One Swallow Alone Does Not Make A Summer.