Nay, what is worse, perhaps turn poet, which, they say, is an infectious and incurable distemper.

The absent feel and fear every ill.

Alas! all music jars when the soul's out of tune.

The woman who is resolved to be respected can make herself be so even amidst an army of soldiers.

Oh Senor" said the niece. "Your grace should send them to be burned (books), just like all the rest, because it's very likely that my dear uncle, having been cured of the chivalric disease, will read these and want to become a shepherd and wander through the woods and meadows singing and playing and, what would be even worse, become a poet, and that, they say, is an incurable and contagious disease.

When good luck knocks at the door, let him in and keep him there.

The pen is the language of the soul; as the concepts that in it are generated, such will be its writings.