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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

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If gold rusts, what then can iron do?
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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The handsome gifts that fate and nature lend us Most often are the very ones that end us.
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The cat would eat fish but would not get her feet wet.
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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.
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The gretteste clerkes been noght wisest men.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Patience is a conquering virtue.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.
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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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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What's said is said and goes upon its way Like it or not, repent it as you may.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Pitee renneth soone in gentil herte.
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
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Min be the travaille, and thin be the glorie.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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We little know the things for which we pray.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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There's no workman, whatsoever he be, That may both work well and hastily.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Time lost, as men may see, For nothing may recovered be.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Drunkenness is the very sepulcher Of man's wit and his discretion.
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