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If gold rusts, what then can iron do?

Geoffrey Chaucer

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Geoffrey Chaucer
Died: 1400
Died: October 25
Astrologer
Linguist
Lyricist
Philosopher
Poet
Politician
Translator
Writer
London
England
Chaucer
Geoffrey Chaucer
Rusts
Rust
Iron
Gold

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Ther nis no werkman, whatsoevere he be, That may bothe werke wel and hastily.
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For tyme y-lost may not recovered be.
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Fo lo, the gentil kind of the lioun! For when a flye offendeth him or byteth, He with his tayl awey the flye smyteth Al esily, for, of his genterye, Him deyneth net to wreke him on a flye, As cloth a curre or elles another beste.
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Patience is a conquering virtue. The learned say that, if it not desert you, It vanquishes what force can never reach Why answer back at every angry speech? No, learn forbearance or, I'll tell you what, You will be taught it, whether you will or not.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Ther is no newe gyse that it nas old.
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The gretteste clerkes been noght wisest men.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Who then may trust the dice, at Fortune's throw?
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But manly set the world on sixe and sevene And, if thou deye a martir, go to hevene.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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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
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The fields have eyes, and the woods have ears.
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He that loveth God will do diligence to please God by his works, and abandon himself, with all his might, well for to do.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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One cannot scold or complain at every word. Learn to endure patiently, or else, as I live and breathe, you shall learn it whether you want or not.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Ful wys is he that kan hymselven knowe.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Nowhere so busy a man as he there was And yet he seemed busier than he was.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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For many a pasty have you robbed of blood, And many a Jack of Dover have you sold That has been heated twice and twice grown cold. From many a pilgrim have you had Christ's curse, For of your parsley they yet fare the worse, Which they have eaten with your stubble goose For in your shop full many a fly is loose.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Men sholde nat knowe of Goddes pryvetee Ye, blessed be alwey, a lewed man That noght but oonly his believe kan! So ferde another clerk with astromye, He walked in the feelds, for to prye Upon the sterres, what ther sholde bifalle, Til he was in a marle-pit yfalle.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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The guilty think all talk is of themselves.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Mercy surpasses justice.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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The smylere with the knyf under the cloke.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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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