Not With Whom You Are Born, But

El Pan Comido Y La Compan? |a Deshecha. With The Bread Eaten, The Company Breaks Up.

A Closed Mouth Catches No Flies.

Every Man Is The Son Of His Own Works.

Reading Don Quixote Can Be Compared To An Indefinite Visit From Your Most Impossible Senior Relative, With All His Pranks, Dirty Habits, Unstoppable Reminiscences, And Terrible Cronies. When The Experience Is Over, And The Old Boy Checks Out At Last (on Page 846 - The Prose Wedged Tight, With No Breaks For Dialogue), You Will Shed Tears All Right; Not Tears Of Relief Or Regret But Tears Of Pride. You Made It, Despite All That 'don Quixote' Could Do.

The Guts Carry The Feet, Not The Feet The Guts.