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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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Geoffrey Chaucer
Died: 1400
Died: October 25
Astrologer
Linguist
Lyricist
Philosopher
Poet
Politician
Translator
Writer
London
England
Chaucer
Geoffrey Chaucer
Literature
Sure
Powerful
Age
Upon
Wardens
Filth
Chastity
Agree

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There's no workman, whatsoever he be, That may both work well and hastily.
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One cannot be avenged for every wrong according to the occasion, everyone who knows how, must use temperance.
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One shouldn't be too inquisitive in life Either about God's secrets or one's wife.
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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.
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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.
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In love there is but little rest.
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Thou shalt make castels thanne in Spayne And dreme of joye, all but in vayne.
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Fie on possession, But if a man be vertuous withal.
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Trouthe is the hyest thyng that man may kepe.
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For out of old fields, as men saith, Cometh all this new corn from year to year And out of old books, in good faith, Cometh all this new science that men learn.
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I gave my whole heart up, for him to hold.
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I am not the rose, but I have lived near the rose.
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And so it is in politics, dear brother, Each for himself alone, there is no other.
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People can die of mere imagination.
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Nowhere so busy a man as he there was And yet he seemed busier than he was.
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For tyme ylost may nought recovered be.
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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.
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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.
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The gretteste clerkes been noght wisest men.
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All good things must come to an end.
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