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Geoffrey Chaucer (Writer)

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.
Geoffrey Chaucer 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.
Geoffrey Chaucer science
Nature, the vicar of the Almightie Lord.
Geoffrey Chaucer nature
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.
Geoffrey Chaucer light
For I am shave as neigh as any frere. But yit I praye unto youre curteisye: Beeth hevy again, or elles moot I die.
Geoffrey Chaucer you
Wordes tho That hadden prys, now wonder nyce and straunge Us thinketh hem; and yet they spake hem so, And spedde as wel in love as men now do
Geoffrey Chaucer love
Ye knowe eek, that in forme of speche is chaunge Withinne a thousand yeer, and wordes tho That hadden prys, now wonder nyce and straunge Us thinketh hem; and yet they spake hem so, And spedde as wel in love as men now do;Eek for to winne love in sondry ages, In sondry londes, sondry ben usages.
Geoffrey Chaucer love
Of harmes two the lesse is for to cheese.
Geoffrey Chaucer
For which he wex a litel red for shame, Whan he the peple upon him herde cryen, That to beholde it was a noble game, How sobreliche he caste doun his yen. Criseyda gan al his chere aspyen, And let so softe it in her herte sinke That to herself she seyde, “Who yaf me drinke?”
Geoffrey Chaucer self
Or as an ook comth of a litel spir, So thorugh this lettre, which that she hym sente, Encressen gan desir, of which he brente.
Geoffrey Chaucer
It is nought good a slepyng hound to wake.
Geoffrey Chaucer good
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.
Geoffrey Chaucer man
He helde about him alway, out of drede, A world of folke.
Geoffrey Chaucer world
Oon ere it herde, at tothir out it wente
Geoffrey Chaucer
Eke wonder last but nine deies never in toun.
Geoffrey Chaucer wonder
For tyme y-lost may not recovered be.
Geoffrey Chaucer lost
I am right sorry for your heavinesse.
Geoffrey Chaucer you
And for ther is so gret diversite In Englissh and in writyng of oure tonge, So prey I God that non myswrite the, Ne the mysmetre for defaute of tonge; And red wherso thow be, or elles songe, That thow be understonde, God I biseche!
Geoffrey Chaucer song
Go, little booke! go, my little tragedie!
Geoffrey Chaucer book
O yonge fresshe folkes, he or she, In which that love up-groweth with your age, Repeyreth hoom fro worldly vanitee,And of your herte up-casteth the visage To thilke God that after his image Yow made, and thynketh al nis but a faire This world, that passeth sone as floures faire.
Geoffrey Chaucer love
He coude songes make, and wel endite.
Geoffrey Chaucer song
What is this world? what asketh men to have? Now with his love, now in his colde grave Allone, withouten any compaignye.
Geoffrey Chaucer love
Thanne is it wysdom, as it thynketh me, To maken vertu of necessitee.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swych 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 halve 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.
Geoffrey Chaucer nature
And of his port as meke as is a mayde.
Geoffrey Chaucer
He was a verray, parfit gentil knyght.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Ful weel she soong the service dyvyne, Entuned in hir nose ful semely, And Frenssh she spak ful faire and fetisly, After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe, For Frenssh of Parys was to hire unknowe.
Geoffrey Chaucer service
A Clerk ther was of Oxenforde also.
Geoffrey Chaucer
For him was lever han at his beddes hed A twenty bokes, clothed in black or red, Of , and his philosophie, Than robes riche, or fidel, or sautrie. But all be that he was a philosophre, Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre.
Geoffrey Chaucer rich
Of studie took he most cure and most hede.Noght o word spak he more than was nede, And that was seyd in forme and reverence, And short and quik, and ful of hy sentence. Souninge in moral vertu was his speche, And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.
Geoffrey Chaucer die
Nowher so bisy a man as he ther nas, And yet he semed bisier than he was.
Geoffrey Chaucer man
His studie was but litel on the Bible.
Geoffrey Chaucer die
For gold in phisike is a cordial; Therefore he loved gold in special.
Geoffrey Chaucer love
Wide was his parish, and houses fer asonder.
Geoffrey Chaucer paris
This noble ensample to his shepe he yaf, — That first he wrought, and afterwards he taught.
Geoffrey Chaucer war
But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve, He taught; but first he folwed it himselve.
Geoffrey Chaucer
And yet he had a thomb of gold parde.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Who so shall telle a tale after a man, He moste reherse, as neighe as ever he can, Everich word, if it be in his charge, All speke he never so rudely and so large; Or elles he moste tellen his tale untrewe, Or feinen thinges, or finden wordes newe.
Geoffrey Chaucer man
For May wol have no slogardie a-night. The seson priketh every gentil herte, And maketh him out of his slepe to sterte.
Geoffrey Chaucer night
The smylere with the knyf under the cloke.
Geoffrey Chaucer wit
That field hath eyen, and the wood hath ears.
Geoffrey Chaucer
And therfore, at the kynges court, my brother,Ech man for hymself, ther is noon other.
Geoffrey Chaucer self
This world nys but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we been pilgrymes, passynge to and fro; Deeth is an ende of every worldly soore.
Geoffrey Chaucer world
What maketh this, but Juppiter the kyng, That is prince and cause of alle thyng Convertynge al unto his propre welle From which it is deryved, sooth to telle, And heer-agayns no creature on lyve Of no degree availleth for to strive. Thanne is it wysdom, as it thynketh me, To maken vertu of necessity, And take it weel, that we may nat eschue; And namely, that to us alle is due.
Geoffrey Chaucer gay
Up rose the sonne, and up rose Emelie.
Geoffrey Chaucer lie
Min be the travaille, and thin be the glorie.
Geoffrey Chaucer
To maken vertue of necessite.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Men sholde wedden after hir estat, For youthe and elde is often at debat.
Geoffrey Chaucer youth
And brought of mighty ale a large quart.
Geoffrey Chaucer art
Ther n' is no werkman whatever he be, That may both werken wel and hastily. 4 This wol be done at leisure parfitly.
Geoffrey Chaucer hate
The gretteste clerkes been noght wisest men.
Geoffrey Chaucer men
Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken.
Geoffrey Chaucer fire
The gretest clerkes ben not the wisest men.
Geoffrey Chaucer men
So was hire joly whistle wel ywette.
Geoffrey Chaucer
In his owen grese I made him frie.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Forbede us thing, and that desiren we; Preesse on us faste, and thanne wol we flee. With daunger oute we al oure chaffare: Greet prees at market maketh dere ware, And too greet chepe is holden at litel pris.
Geoffrey Chaucer war
Allas! allas! that evere love was synne!
Geoffrey Chaucer love
And for to see, and eek for to be seie.
Geoffrey Chaucer
I hold a mouses wit not worth a leke, That hath but on hole for to sterten to.
Geoffrey Chaucer wit
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.
Geoffrey Chaucer man
That he is gentil that doth gentil dedis.
Geoffrey Chaucer
For thogh we slepe, or wake, or rome, or ryde, Ay fleeth the tyme; it nyl no man abyde.
Geoffrey Chaucer man
This flour of wifly patience.
Geoffrey Chaucer patience
Ther nis no werkman, whatsoevere he be, That may bothe werke wel and hastily.
Geoffrey Chaucer man
Therfore bihoveth hire a ful long spoon That shal ete with a feend.
Geoffrey Chaucer wit
They demen gladly to the badder end.
Geoffrey Chaucer men
Love is a thyng as any spirit free. Wommen, of kynde, desiren libertee, And nat to been constreyned as a thral; And so doon men, if I sooth seyen shal.
Geoffrey Chaucer men
Fie on possession, But if a man be vertuous withal.
Geoffrey Chaucer man
Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.
Geoffrey Chaucer man
Ful wys is he that kan hymselven knowe!
Geoffrey Chaucer
Mordre wol out, that se we day by day.
Geoffrey Chaucer day
But yet that holden this tale a folly, As of a fox, or of a cock and hen, Taketh the morality, good men. Forsaith that all that written is, To our doctrine it is y-writ, ywis;Taketh the fruit, and let the chaff be still.
Geoffrey Chaucer men
Certes, they been lyk to houndes, for an hound whan he comth by the roser, or by other bushes, though he may nat pisse, yet wole he heve up his leg and make a contenaunce to pisse.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Your duty is, as ferre as I can gesse.
Geoffrey Chaucer duty
O little booke, thou art so unconning, How darst thou put thy-self in prees for drede?
Geoffrey Chaucer art
Of all the floures in the mede, Than love I most these floures white and rede, Soch that men callen daisies in our toun.
Geoffrey Chaucer love
That well by reason men it call may The daisie, or els the eye of the day, The emprise, and floure of floures all.
Geoffrey Chaucer men
For iii may keep a counsel if twain be away.
Geoffrey Chaucer
But all thing which that shineth as the gold Ne is no gold, as I have herd it told.
Geoffrey Chaucer
The firste vertue, sone, if thou wilt lere, Is to restreine and kepen wel thy tonge.
Geoffrey Chaucer
The proverbe saith that many a smale maketh a grate.
Geoffrey Chaucer man
Right as an aspen lefe she gan to quake.
Geoffrey Chaucer right
Time and tide wait for no man.
Geoffrey Chaucer man
Women desire six things: They want their husbands to be brave, wise, rich, generous, obedient to wife, and lively in bed.
Geoffrey Chaucer men
People can die of mere imagination.
Geoffrey Chaucer imagination
And she was fair as is the rose in May.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Nowhere so busy a man as he than he, and yet he seemed busier than he was.
Geoffrey Chaucer man
There's no workman, whatsoever he be, That may both work well and hastily.
Geoffrey Chaucer work
Murder will out, this my conclusion.
Geoffrey Chaucer will
We know little of the things for which we pray.
Geoffrey Chaucer pray
The greatest scholars are not usually the wisest people.
Geoffrey Chaucer people
The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.
Geoffrey Chaucer life
By nature, men love newfangledness.
Geoffrey Chaucer love
Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.
Geoffrey Chaucer desire
Love is blind.
Geoffrey Chaucer love
First he wrought, and afterward he taught.
Geoffrey Chaucer war
The guilty think all talk is of themselves.
Geoffrey Chaucer guilt
Whoso will pray, he must fast and be clean, And fat his soul, and make his body lean.
Geoffrey Chaucer soul
There's never a new fashion but it's old.
Geoffrey Chaucer fashion
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
Geoffrey Chaucer

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