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.

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

Inasmuch as ill-deeds spring up as a spontaneous crop, they are easy to learn.

Where envy reigns virtue can't exist, and generosity doesn't go with meanness.

All sorrows are bearable, if there is bread.

The treason pleases, but the traitors are odious.

Wit and humor do not reside in slow minds.