"Here, Don Quixote uttered a grievous sigh, saying. 'I am not positively certain, whether or not, that beauteous enemy of mine, takes pleasure in the world's knowing I am her slave; this only I can say, in answer to the question you asked, with so much civility, that her name is Dulcinea; her native country a certain part of Valencia called El Toboso; her station must at least be that of a princess, since she is queen and lady of my soul; her beauty, supernatural, in that it justifies all the impossible, and chimerical attributes of excellence, which the poets bestow upon their nymphs; her hair is of gold, her forehead the Elysian fields, her eyebrows heavenly arches, her eyes themselves suns, her cheeks roses, her lips of coral, her teeth of pearl, her neck alabaster, her breast marble, her hands ivory, her skin whiter than snow, and those parts which decency conceals from human view, are such, according to my belief and apprehension, as discretion ought to enhance above all comparison.'"
For all his running around, attacking windmills, hanging with goatherds and using the most flowery, verbose language, Senor Don Quixote does one thing very well: he holds all women he encounters in high esteem regardless of station, appearance and age. If madness is the mark of a true gentleman, then I want my man to be certified insane--complete with white jacket and circular room.
I love it! It's so very true about the Don. It's awesome that, even literary, there can be men out there that don't care about what type of woman you are, but hails you as the most beautiful of creatures anyway. It's very heartwarming!
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