Geoffrey Chaucer Quotes
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What is better than wisdom? Woman. And what is better than a good woman? Nothing.
All good things must come to an end.
The devil can only destroy those who are already on their way to damnation.
The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne.
Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.
Many small make a great.
That field hath eyen, and the wood hath ears.
Women naturally desire the same six things as I; they want their husbands to be brave, wise, rich, generous with money, obedient to the wife, and lively in bed.
In April the sweet showers fall And pierce the drought of March to the root, and all The veins are bathed in liquor of such power As brings about the engendering of the flower.
Patience is a conquering virtue.
If a man really loves a woman, of course he wouldn't marry her for the world if he were not quite sure that he was the best person she could possibly marry.
Mercy surpasses justice.
In the stars is written the death of every man.
How potent is the fancy! People are so impressionable, they can die of imagination.
And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote.
The guilty think all talk is of themselves.
And she was fair as is the rose in May.
Trouthe is the hyest thyng that man may kepe.
And so it is in politics, dear brother, Each for himself alone, there is no other.
That of all the floures in the mede, Thanne love I most these floures white and rede, Suche as men callen daysyes in her toune.
Love will not be constrain'd by mastery. When mast'ry comes, the god of love anon Beateth his wings, and, farewell, he is gone. Love is a thing as any spirit free.
And then the wren gan scippen and to daunce.
By God, if women had written stories, As clerks had within here oratories, They would have written of men more wickedness Than all the mark of Adam may redress.
Men love newfangleness.
Woe to the cook whose sauce has no sting.
Great peace is found in little busy-ness.
Abstinence is approved of God.
Thou shalt make castels thanne in Spayne And dreme of joye, all but in vayne.
The greatest scholars are not usually the wisest people.
Harde is his heart that loveth nought In May.
For tyme ylost may nought recovered be.
Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.
Look up on high, and thank the God of all.
Go, little booke! go, my little tragedie!
Every honest miller has a golden thumb.
Strike while the iron is hot.
My house is small, but you are learned men And by your arguments can make a place Twenty foot broad as infinite as space.
Take a cat, nourish it well with milk and tender meat, make it a couch of silk.
In love there is but little rest.
Time lost, as men may see, For nothing may recovered be.
Death is the end of every worldly pain.
This world nys but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we been pilgrymes, passynge to and fro.
One cannot be avenged for every wrong; according to the occasion, everyone who knows how, must use temperance.
Many a true word is spoken in jest
With empty hand no man can lure a hawk.
Soun is noght but air ybroken, And every speche that is spoken, Loud or privee, foul or fair, In his substaunce is but air; For as flaumbe is but lighted smoke, Right so soun is air ybroke.
One flesh they are; and one flesh, so I'd guess, Has but one heart, come grief or happiness.
For in their hearts doth Nature stir them so Then people long on pilgrimage to go And palmers to be seeking foreign strands To distant shrines renowned in sundry lands.
For out of old fields, as men saith, Cometh all this new corn from year to year; And out of old books, in good faith, Cometh all this new science that men learn.