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Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.
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
Men
Highest
Inspirational
Keep
Truth
May
Thing
More quotes by Geoffrey Chaucer
Ful wys is he that kan hymselven knowe.
Geoffrey Chaucer
At the ches with me she (Fortune) gan to pleye With her false draughts (pieces) dyvers/She staal on me, and took away my fers. And when I sawgh my fers awaye, Allas! I kouthe no lenger playe.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Patience is a conquering virtue.
Geoffrey Chaucer
He is gentle that doeth gentle deeds.
Geoffrey Chaucer
There's no workman, whatsoever he be, That may both work well and hastily.
Geoffrey Chaucer
What's said is said and goes upon its way Like it or not, repent it as you may.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Time lost, as men may see, For nothing may recovered be.
Geoffrey Chaucer
But manly set the world on sixe and sevene And, if thou deye a martir, go to hevene.
Geoffrey Chaucer
One eare it heard, at the other out it went.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.
Geoffrey Chaucer
One cannot be avenged for every wrong according to the occasion, everyone who knows how, must use temperance.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Drunkenness is the very sepulcher Of man's wit and his discretion.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Trouthe is the hyest thyng that man may kepe.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Who then may trust the dice, at Fortune's throw?
Geoffrey Chaucer
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.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Who looks at me, beholdeth sorrows all, All pain, all torture, woe and all distress I have no need on other harms to call, As anguish, languor, cruel bitterness, Discomfort, dread, and madness more and less Methinks from heaven above the tears must rain In pity for my harsh and cruel pain.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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
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
For tyme y-lost may not recovered be.
Geoffrey Chaucer
