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