Translation from one language to another is like viewing a piece of tapestry on the wrong side where though the figures are distinguishable yet there are so many ends and threads that the beauty and exactness of the work is obscured.

I can tell where my own shoe pinches me.

There are men that will make you books, and turn them loose into the world, with as much dispatch as they would do a dish of fritters.

The eating. By a small sample we may judge of the whole piece.

Translating from one language to another, unless it is from Greek and Latin, the queens of all languages, is like looking at Flemish tapestries from the wrong side, for although the figures are visible, they are covered by threads that obscure them, and cannot be seen with the smoothness and color of the right side.

A silly remark can be made in Latin as well as in Spanish.

There's no love lost between us.