NormEl Greco and Cervantes: the dog's pants.
If there was one thing that Cervantes the Spaniard didn't know it was how much alike he and El Greco the Spaniard are. You could throw a blanket over their output and have a picnic on a field day. To say that the writings of El Greco and the paintings of Cervantes were identical except for the sense that they are appreciated through sounds perfectly reasonable. Defecating in a jam jar and spreading it on your toast doesn't. The number of times that I'd say you can't compare art and lit properly without slipping into your pants in a trance would be manifestly numerous. There's no denying the serious humour of both these natural phenomenons. To equate slipping into your pants with fingering a supect is ample evidence of booby-traps. I'd always say one shouldn't look at Cervantes without reading El Greco; if I was right in the head. As the headless horseman told his stable-hands: "Hold steedy." There are many ways to scan a cat and this is just one of them. El Greco and Cervantes: equal.
