Geoffrey Chaucer Famous Quotes
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Go litel bok, go, litel myn tragedye,
Ther God thi makere yet, er that he dye,
So sende myght to make in som comedye!
But litel book, no makyng thow n'envie,
But subgit be to alle poesye;
And kis the steppes where as thow seest pace
Virgile, Ovide, Omer, Lucan, and Stace.
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.
Loke who that is most vertuous alway, Prive and apert, and most entendeth ay To do the gentil dedes that he can, And take him for the gretest gentilman.
The proverbe saith that many a smale maketh a grate.
For I have seyn of a ful misty morwe Folowen ful ofte a myrie someris day.
Time lost, as men may see, For nothing may recovered be.
The greatest scholars are not usually the wisest people
you will not be master of my body & my property
He loved chivalrye Trouthe and honour, freedom and curteisye.
Yow loveres axe I now this questioun, Who hath the worse, Arcite or Palamoun? 490 That oon may seen his lady day by day, But in prison he moot dwelle alway. That other wher him list may ryde or go, But seen his lady shal he never-mo. Now demeth as yow liste, ye that can, 495 For I wol telle forth as I bigan. Explicit prima Pars. Sequitur pars secunda.
One shouldn't be too inquisitive in life Either about God's secrets or one's wife.
For tyme y-lost may not recovered be.
people have managed to marry without arithmetic
I am right sorry for your heavinesse.
Women desire six things: They want their husbands to be brave, wise, rich, generous, obedient to wife, and lively in bed.
Forbid Us Something and That Thing we Desire
A love grown old is not the love once new.
And then the wren gan scippen and to daunce.
The gretteste clerkes been noght wisest men.
By God," quod he, "for pleynly, at a word,
Thy drasty rymyng is nat worth a toord!
But, Lord Crist! whan that it remembreth me Upon my yowthe, and on my jolitee, It tickleth me aboute myn herte roote. Unto this day it dooth myn herte boote That I have had my world as in my tyme. But age, alias! that al wole envenyme, Hath me biraft my beautee and my pith. Lat go, farewel! the devel go therwith! The flour is goon, ther is namoore to telle; The bren, as I best kan, now most I selle.
Fie on possession, But if a man be vertuous withal.
Her statue, glorious in majesty,
Stood naked, floating on a vasty sea,
And from the navel down there were a mass
Of green and glittering waves as bright as glass.
In her right hand a cithern carried she
And on her head, most beautiful to see,
A garland of fresh roses, while above
There circles round her many a flickering dove.
One flesh they are; and one flesh, so I'd guess,
Has but one heart, come grief or happiness.
... murder wol out
He kept his tippet stuffed with pins for curls, And pocket-knives, to give to pretty girls.
He who repeats a tale after a man,
Is bound to say, as nearly as he can,
Each single word, if he remembers it,
However rudely spoken or unfit,
Or else the tale he tells will be untrue,
The things invented and the phrases new.
The time always flees; it will wait for no man. And through you are still in the flower of your young manhood, age creeps on steadily, as quiet as a stone, and death meanaces every age and strikes in every rank, for no one escapes. As surely as we know that we will die, so we are uncertain of the day when death shall fall on us.
But manly set the world on sixe and sevene; And, if thou deye a martir, go to hevene.
You are the cause by which I die.
There's no workman, whatsoever he be, That may both work well and hastily.
If no love is, O God, what fele I so? And if love is, what thing and which is he? If love be good, from whennes cometh my woo? If it be wikke, a wonder thynketh me
The life so brief, the art so long in the learning, the attempt so hard, the conquest so sharp, the fearful joy that ever slips away so quickly - by all this I mean love, which so sorely astounds my feeling with its wondrous operation, that when I think upon it I scarce know whether I wake or sleep.
the guilty think all talk is of themselves.
So was hir jolly whistel wel y-wette.
He that loveth God will do diligence to please God by his works, and abandon himself, with all his might, well for to do.
If were not foolish young, were foolish old.
That he is gentil that doth gentil dedis.
Ne nevere mo ne lakked hire pite;
Tendre-herted, slydynge of corage;
But trewely, I kan nat telle hire age.
If gold rusts, what then can iron do?
Three years went by in happiness and health; He bore himself so well in peace and war That there was no one Theseus valued more.
And once he had got really drunk on wine,
Then he would speak no language but Latin.
Of alle the floures in the mede, Than love I most these floures whyte and rede, Swiche as men callen daysies in our toun ... Til that myn herte dye ... That wel by reson men hit calle may The 'dayesye' or elles the 'ye of day,' The emperice and flour of floures alle. I pray to god that faire mot she falle, And alle that loven floures, for hir sake!
If love be good, from whence cometh my woe?
3440 An hole he fond3440, ful lowe upon a bord, Theras3441 the cat was wont in for to crepe, And at that hole he looked in ful depe3442, And atte laste he hadde of him a sighte.
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
His spirit chaunged house and wente ther,
As I cam nevere, I kan nat tellen wher.
Everybody wants to go to the Super Bowl. Nobody wants to run laps.
Hyt is not al golde that glareth.
Many small make a great.
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in switch licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(So Priketh hem Nature in hir corages),
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires ende
Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke
For there is one thing I can safely say: that those bound by love must obey each other if they are to keep company long. Love will not be constrained by mastery; when mastery comes, the God of love at once beats his wings, and farewell he is gone. Love is a thing as free as any spirit; women naturally desire liberty, and not to be constrained like slaves; and so do men, if I shall tell the truth.
Ful wys is he that kan himselve knowe.
For oute of olde feldys, as men sey,
Comyth al this newe corn from yer to yere;
And out of olde bokis, in good fey,
Comyth al this newe science that men lere.
With emptie hands men may no haukes lure.
And shame it is, if that a priest take keep, To see a shitten shepherd and clean sheep:
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.
I know that my singing doesn't make the moon rise, nor does it make the stars shine. But without my song, the night would seem empty and incomplete. There is more to daybreak than light, just as there is more to nighttime than darkness.
And high above, depicted in a tower,
Sat Conquest, robed in majesty and power,
Under a sword that swung above his head,
Sharp-edged and hanging by a subtle thread.
He who accepts his poverty unhurt I'd say is rich although he lacked a shirt. But truly poor are they who whine and fret and covet what they cannot hope to get.
Alas the day that gave me birth! Worse then my prison is the endless earth,
now I am doomed eternally to dwell,
not in purgatory, but in hell.
Ther nis no werkman, whatsoevere he be, That may bothe werke wel and hastily.
And if love is, what thing and which is he? If love be good, from whennes cometh my woo?
The latter end of joy is woe.
If gold ruste, what shall iren do?
The bisy larke, messager of day.
No empty handed man can lure a bird
Until we're rotten, we cannot be ripe.
Min be the travaille, and thin be the glorie.
I am not the rose, but I have lived near the rose.
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.
Eke wonder last but nine deies never in toun.
When that Aprille with his shoures sote.
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertue engendred is the flour.
I gave my whole heart up, for him to hold.
we know little of the things for which we pray
The man who has no wife is no cuckold.
Trouthe is the hyest thyng that man may kepe.
Right as an aspen lefe she gan to quake.
If gold rust, what then will iron do?/ For if a priest be foul in whom we trust/ No wonder that a common man should rust ...
Habit maketh no monk, ne wearing of gilt spurs maketh no knight.
Be nat wrooth, my lord, though that I pleye. Ful ofte in game a sooth I have herd seye!
Lust is addicted to novelty.
Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken.
In general, women desire to rule over their husbands and lovers, to be the authority above them.
He hath considered shortly, in a clause1763, The trespas 1764 of hem bothe, and eek the cause, 1765 And althogh that his ire hir gilt accused, Yet in his resoun he hem bothe excused, As thus: he thoghte wel that every man Wol helpe himself in love if that he kan, And eek delivere himself out of prisoun;
Though Plente that is goddesse of rychesses hielde adoun with ful horn, and withdraweth nat hir hand, as many richesses as the see torneth upward sandes whan it is moeved with ravysshynge blastes, or elles as manye rychesses as ther schynen bryghte sterres in hevene on the sterry nyghtes; yit, for al that, mankende nolde nat cese to wepe wrecchide pleyntes. And al be it so that God resceyveth gladly hir preiers, and yyveth hem, as fool-large, moche gold, and apparayleth coveytous folk with noble or cleer honours; yit semeth hem haven igeten nothyng, but alwey hir cruel ravyne, devourynge al that they han geten, scheweth othere gapynges (that is to seyn, gapyn and desiren yit after mo rychesses.) What brydles myghte withholden to any certeyn ende the disordene covetise of men, whan evere the rather that it fletith in large yiftes, the more ay brenneth in hem the thurst of havynge? Certes he that qwakynge and dredful weneth hymselven nedy, he ne lyveth nevermo ryche.
Youth may outrun the old, but not outwit.
'My lige lady, generally,' quod he, 'Wommen desyren to have sovereyntee As well over hir housbond as hir love.'
By Pluto sent at the request of Saturn. Arcita's horse in terror danced a pattern And leapt aside and foundered as he leapt, And ere he was aware Arcite was swept Out of the saddle and pitched upon his head Onto the ground, and there he lay for dead; His breast was shattered by the saddle-bow.
For of fortunes sharp adversitee The worst kynde of infortune is this, A man to han ben in prosperitee, And it remembren, whan it passed is.
The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.
And when a beest is deed, he hath no peyne; But man after his deeth moot wepe and pleyne.
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.
doctors & druggists wash each other's hands
That field hath eyen, and the wood hath ears.
Chese now," quod she, "oon of thise thynges tweye:
To han me foul and old til that I deye,
And be to yow a trewe, humble wyf,
And nevere yow displese in al my lyf,
Or elles ye wol han me yong and fair,
And take youre aventure of the repair
That shal be to youre hous by cause of me,
Or in som oother place, may wel be.
Now chese yourselven, wheither that yow liketh.
There's never a new fashion but it's old.
Life is short. Art long. Opportunity is fleeting. Expierience treacherous. Judgement difficult.
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.
The handsome gifts that fate and nature lend us Most often are the very ones that end us.
