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All good things must come to an end.

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
Things
Goodnight
Sad
Sadness
Ends
Come
Must
Good

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In love there is but little rest.
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Woe to the cook whose sauce has no sting.
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The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne.
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With emptie hands men may no haukes lure.
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Make a virtue of necessity.
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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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He that loveth God will do diligence to please God by his works, and abandon himself, with all his might, well for to do.
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And so it is in politics, dear brother, Each for himself alone, there is no other.
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Patience is a conquering virtue. The learned say that, if it not desert you, It vanquishes what force can never reach Why answer back at every angry speech? No, learn forbearance or, I'll tell you what, You will be taught it, whether you will or not.
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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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The smylere with the knyf under the cloke.
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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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Nowhere so busy a man as he there was And yet he seemed busier than he was.
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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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Who then may trust the dice, at Fortune's throw?
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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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First he wrought, and afterwards he taught.
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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People can die of mere imagination.
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One eare it heard, at the other out it went.
Geoffrey Chaucer