My Honor Is Dearer To Me Than

A Silly Remark Can Be Made In Latin As Well As In Spanish.

History Is In A Manner A Sacred Thing, So Far As It Contains Truth; For Where Truth Is, The Supreme Father Of It May Also Be Said To Be, At Least, Inasmuch As Concerns Truth.

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.

Let The Worst Come To The Worst.

Blessed Be Those Happy Ages That Were Strangers To The Dreadful Fury Of These Devilish Instruments Of Artillery, Whose Inventor I Am Satisfied Is Now In Hell, Receiving The Reward Of His Cursed Invention, Which Is The Cause That Very Often A Cowardly Base Hand Takes Away The Life Of The Bravest Gentleman.