Heaven's help is better than early rising.

The pitcher goes so often to the fountain that if gets broken.

He who's down one day can be up the next, unless he really wants to stay in bed, that is.

Delay always heeds danger.

Everyone is as God has made him, and oftentimes a great deal worse.

Old, that's an affront no woman can well bear.

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.