When Was the Last Time You Tilted at a Windmill?

Don Quixote is in town at DSU tilting at windmills. Most of us at one time or another have Tilted at windmills and been knocked on our butt by reality.

Why do we do it? Because, over a lifetime of disappointments there are moments of victory and those exceptions make life worth living.

The joy of living is in the struggle.

The Man of La Mancha is about the possible inpossible.

Don Quixote forces the tavern maid to see what may be. Of course, the croud mocks her dream. That never happens in real live.

The maid sees herself as she has never seen herself before, and in an ironic twist, the Knight of Mirrors forces Don Quixote to see himself as he really is — we are left with our dreams.

If it were not for the "Don Quixotes" we would all still be living in caves.

“For me alone Don Quixote was born and I for him. His was the power of action, mine of writing.”

― Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote

Sancho, the sidekick, follower, that no journey can be without.

“He who sees a play that is regular, and answerable to the rules of poetry, is pleased with the comic part, informed by the serious, surprised at the variety of accidents, improved by the language, warned by the frauds, instructed by examples, incensed against vice, and enamoured with virtue; for a good play must cause all these emotions in the soul of him that sees it, though he were never so insensible and unpolished.”

― Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote

Innkeeper

“When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams — this may be madness. Too much sanity may be madness — and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!”

― Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote

She's only thinking of him?

“Oh Senor" said the niece. "Your grace should send them to be burned (books), just like all the rest, because it's very likely that my dear uncle, having been cured of the chivalric disease, will read these and want to become a shepherd and wander through the woods and meadows singing and playing and, what would be even worse, become a poet, and that, they say, is an incurable and contagious disease.”

― Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote

Carpe Diem,

Carl