Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervants, Chapter 1, Paragraph 3

Many an argument did he have with the curate of his village (a learned man, and a graduate of Siguenza) as to which had been the better knight, Palmerin of England or Amadis of Gaul. Master Nicholas, the village barber, however, used to say that neither of them came up to the Knight of Phoebus, and that if there was any that could compare with him it was Don Galaor, the brother of Amadis of Gaul, because he had a spirit that was equal to every occasion, and was no finikin knight, nor lachrymose like his brother, while in the matter of valour he was not a whit behind him. In short, he became so absorbed in his books that he spent his nights from sunset to sunrise, and his days from dawn to dark, poring over them; and what with little sleep and much reading his brains got so dry that he lost his wits. His fancy grew full of what he used to read about in his books, enchantments, quarrels, battles, challenges, wounds, wooings, loves, agonies, and all sorts of impossible nonsense; and it so possessed his mind that the whole fabric of invention and fancy he read of was true, that to him no history in the world had more reality in it. He used to say the Cid Ruy Diaz was a very good knight, but that he was not to be compared with the Knight of the Burning Sword who with one back-stroke cut in half two fierce and monstrous giants. He thought more of Bernardo del Carpio because at Roncesvalles he slew Roland in spite of enchantments, availing himself of the artifice of Hercules when he strangled Antaeus the son of Terra in his arms. He approved highly of the giant Morgante, because, although of the giant breed which is always arrogant and ill-conditioned, he alone was affable and well-bred. But above all he admired Reinaldos of Montalban, especially when he saw him sallying forth from his castle and robbing everyone he met, and when beyond the seas he stole that image of Mahomet which, as his history says, was entirely of gold. To have a bout of kicking at
that traitor of a Ganelon he would have given his housekeeper, and his niece into the bargain.

TIM-ELVIS' OBSERVATIONS ABOUT THIS PARAGRAPH:

Lord almight, that is one whale of a long paragraph. I thought paragraph one and two were long, but this one is the mother of all paragraphs. Apparently brevity was not a 17th century virtue. Oh well, let's talk about each mindnumbing sentence.

Paragraph 3, Sentence 1: The main character (let's just start calling him Quesadilla for now) argues with the head priest or cleric of the village about who the better knight out of history was -- a dude from England or a guy from Gaul (modern day France).

Paragraph 3, Sentence 2: The village barber or doctor (historically barbers of that century cut hair and lopped off limbs according to the person's particular need) argued that neither the English or French dude held a candle to the Knight of Phoebus (who I think was a Spanish knight though Phoebus was the Greek god of light so god knows what the barber was blathering on about). The barber did think that the French knight's brother was as good as the Spanish knight because he...let's see, "walked the talk" of a knight instead of doing it half-assed like his crybaby brother.

Paragraph 3, Sentence 3: Quesadilla essentially got so wrapped in reading about knights that it was pretty much all he did 24/7. So eventually, all that reading and sleep deprivation affected his brain. His cheese slid off the cracker, so to speak.

Paragraph 3, Sentence 4: So Quesadilla begin to lose track of what was real and what was Memorex. All of the fictional crap he was reading became his reality.

Paragraph 3, Sentence 5: Essentially he began mixing up real knights with the fictional knights he was reading about and imagining that they really had killed giants and enchanted creatures.

Paragraph 3, Sentence 6: He liked this one giant named Morgante because he wasn't an asshole like other giants.

Paragraph 3, Sentence 7: But Quesadilla really liked this guy named Reinaldos of Montalban (probably an ancestor of the actor Recardo Montalban who hosted Fantasy Island and did all of the Corinthian leather car commercials). Montalban liked to take road trips and knock over 17th century gas stations for beer money. Apparently he even went overseas and ripped off a gold statue of Mahomet (Mohammad). I think it was a bling, bling thing.

Paragraph 3, last sentence: And Quesadilla would have traded his 40 year old housekeeper and his young niece for the opportunity to open up a can of whoopass on some traitor named Ganelon.

Thank god that paragraph is over.