All I can say,’ said Sancho, “is that I perceived a masculine scent about her which must have been because, with so much hard labor, she was sweaty a… - Miguel de Cervantes

Thou whose injustice hath supplied the cause
That makes me quit the weary life I loathe,
As by this wounded bosom thou canst see
How willingly thy victim I become,
Let not my death, if haply worth a tear,
Cloud the clear heaven that dwells in thy bright eyes;

I would not have thee expiate in aught
The crime of having made my heart thy prey;
But rather let thy laughter gaily ring
And prove my death to be thy festival.
Fool that I am to bid thee! well I know
Thy glory gains by my untimely end.

Seine Ehre kann auch der Arme behalten, nicht aber der Schlechte.

all human efforts to communicate — even in the same language — are equally utopian, equally luminous with value, and equally worth the doing.