Geoffrey Chaucer Quotes - Page 3

There was the murdered corpse, in covert laid, And violent death in thousand shapes displayed; The city to the soldier's rage resigned; Successless wars, and poverty behind; Ships burnt in fight, or forced on rocky shores, And the rash hunter strangled by the boars; The newborn babe by nurses overlaid; And the cook caught within the raging fire he made.

This world nys but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we been pilgrymes, passynge to and fro.

If gold rusts, what then can iron do?

People can die of mere imagination.

Trouthe is the hyest thyng that man may kepe.

What's said is said and goes upon its way Like it or not, repent it as you may.

And she was fair as is the rose in May.

Men love newfangleness.

But Christ's lore and his apostles twelve, He taught and first he followed it himself.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.

And as for me, thogh that I can but lyte, On bakes for to rede I me delyte, And to hem yeve I feyth and ful credence, And in myn herte have hem in reverence So hertely, that ther is game noon, That fro my bokes maketh me to goon, But hit be seldom, on the holyday; Save, certeynly, when that the month of May Is comen, and that I here the foules singe, And that the floures ginnen for to springe, Farwel my book and my devocion.

The lyf so short, the craft so longe to lerne. Th' assay so hard, so sharp the conquerynge, The dredful joye, alwey that slit so yerne; Al this mene I be love... For out of olde feldes, as men seith, Cometh al this new corn fro yeer to yere; And out of olde bokes, in good feith, Cometh al this newe science that men lere.

Ful wys is he that kan hymselven knowe.

Yet do not miss the moral, my good men. For Saint Paul says that all that’s written well Is written down some useful truth to tell. Then take the wheat and let the chaff lie still.

Lat take a cat, and fostre him wel with milk, And tendre flesh, and make his couche of silk, And let him seen a mous go by the wal; Anon he weyveth milk, and flesh, and al, And every deyntee that is in that hous, Swich appetyt hath he to ete a mous.

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.

Thou shalt make castels thanne in Spayne And dreme of joye, all but in vayne.

He is gentle that doeth gentle deeds.

By nature, men love newfangledness.

My house is small, but you are learned men And by your arguments can make a place Twenty foot broad as infinite as space.

He loved chivalrye Trouthe and honour, freedom and curteisye.

Abstinence is approved of God.

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote.

Go, little booke! go, my little tragedie!

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.