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I gave my whole heart up, for him to hold.

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
Whole
Heart
Gave
Hold
Literature

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But all thing which that shineth as the gold Ne is no gold, as I have herd it told.
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Ful wys is he that kan hymselven knowe.
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Patience is a conquering virtue.
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The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne.
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If gold rusts, what then can iron do?
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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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For of fortunes sharp adversitee The worst kynde of infortune is this, A man to han ben in prosperitee, And it remembren, whan it passed is.
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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.
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Make a virtue of necessity.
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Remember in the forms of speech comes change Within a thousand years, and words that then Were well esteemed, seem foolish now and strange And yet they spake them so, time and again, And thrived in love as well as any men And so to win their loves in sundry days, In sundry lands there are as many ways.
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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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For tyme ylost may nought recovered be.
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He is gentle that doeth gentle deeds.
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Alas, alas, that ever love was sin! I ever followed natural inclination Under the power of my constellation And was unable to deny, in truth, My chamber of Venus to a likely youth.
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For in their hearts doth Nature stir them so Then people long on pilgrimage to go And palmers to be seeking foreign strands To distant shrines renowned in sundry lands.
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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.
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Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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We little know the things for which we pray.
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Many a true word is spoken in jest
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The cat would eat fish but would not get her feet wet.
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