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Ther nis no werkman, whatsoevere he be, That may bothe werke wel and hastily.

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
Work
Ther
Hastily
May

More quotes by Geoffrey Chaucer

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The gretteste clerkes been noght wisest men.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Ful wys is he that kan hymselven knowe.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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The bisy larke, messager of day.
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This world nys but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we been pilgrymes, passynge to and fro.
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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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To keep demands as much skill as to win.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Fie on possession, But if a man be vertuous withal.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Who then may trust the dice, at Fortune's throw?
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Mercy surpasses justice.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Full wise is he that can himselven knowe.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Patience is a conquering virtue.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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For tyme ylost may nought recovered be.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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The life so brief, the art so long in the learning, the attempt so hard, the conquest so sharp, the fearful joy that ever slips away so quickly - by all this I mean love, which so sorely astounds my feeling with its wondrous operation, that when I think upon it I scarce know whether I wake or sleep.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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That of all the floures in the mede, Thanne love I most these floures white and rede, Suche as men callen daysyes in her toune.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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What is better than wisdom? Woman. And what is better than a good woman? Nothing.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Trouthe is the hyest thyng that man may kepe.
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
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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