The bow cannot always stand bent, nor can human frailty subsist without some lawful recreation.

Now blessings light on him that first invented this same sleep. It covers a man all over, thoughts and all, like a cloak.

My heart is wax molded as she pleases, but enduring as marble to retain.

How will he who does not know how to govern himself know how to govern others?

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.

Beware, gentle knight - the greatest monster of them all is reason.

When we are asleep, we are all equal.