Once upon a time, in a village of the La Mancha province in Spain, there lived an old gentleman who spent most of his time reading. He was about fifty years old, tall and thin, with a long pointy beard.

Night and day, he read ancient books about chivalrous knights. Books with knotty sentences that he spent hours trying to untangle. Sentences like, "The reason of the unreason with which my reason is afflicted so weakens my reason that with reason I murmur at your beauty," and so on. The gentleman had some good habits.