Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Having cleaned his armor and made a full helmet out of a simple headpiece, and having given a name to his horse and decided on one for himself, he realized that the only thing left for him to do was to find a lady to love; for the knight errant without a lady-love was a tree without leaves or fruit, a body without a soul. He said to himself:

1 comment:

Ahab Cloud said...

Don Quixote, Edith Grossman translation, which may be occupying my headspace for a while