Facts Are The Enemy Of Truth.

I Had Rather Munch A Crust Of Brown Bread And An Onion In A Corner, Without Any More Ado Or Ceremony, Than Feed Upon Turkey At Another Man?s Table, Where One Is Fain To Sit Mincing And Chewing His Meat An Hour Together, Drink Little, Be Always Wiping His Fingers And His Chops, And Never Dare To Cough Nor Sneeze, Though He Has Never So Much A Mind To It, Nor Do A Many Things Which A Body May Do Freely By One?s Self.

Valor Lies Just Halfway Between Rashness And Cowardice.

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.

Every Production Must Resemble Its Author.

I Do Not Believe That The Good Lord Plays Dice.