What, nephew, said the king, is the wind in that door?

Always Sir Arthur lost so much blood that it was a marvel he stood on his feet, but he was so full of knighthood that knightly he endured the pain.

The joy of love is too short, and the sorrow thereof, and what cometh thereof, dureth over long.

Knight, keep well thy head, for thou shalt have a buffet for the slaying of my horse.