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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

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
Love
Cometh
Wonder
Thing
Good

More quotes by Geoffrey Chaucer

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In general, women desire to rule over their husbands and lovers, to be the authority above them.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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With emptie hands men may no haukes lure.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Certes, they been lye to hounds, for an hound when he cometh by the roses, or by other bushes, though he may nat pisse, yet wole he heve up his leg and make a countenance to pisse.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Drunkenness is the very sepulcher Of man's wit and his discretion.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Woe to the cook whose sauce has no sting.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Full wise is he that can himselven knowe.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Filth and old age, I'm sure you will agree, are powerful wardens upon chastity.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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The fields have eyes, and the woods have ears.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Make a virtue of necessity.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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. . . 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. . . .
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
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To keep demands as much skill as to win.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Thus with hir fader for a certeyn space Dwelleth this flour of wyfly pacience, That neither by hir wordes ne hir face Biforn the folk, ne eek in her absence, Ne shewed she that hir was doon offence.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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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.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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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.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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One eare it heard, at the other out it went.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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For tyme y-lost may not recovered be.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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In love there is but little rest.
Geoffrey Chaucer