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But manly set the world on sixe and sevene And, if thou deye a martir, go to hevene.

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
Manly
Thou
World

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Pitee renneth soone in gentil herte.
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Thou shalt make castels thanne in Spayne And dreme of joye, all but in vayne.
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'My lige lady, generally,' quod he, 'Wommen desyren to have sovereyntee As well over hir housbond as hir love.'
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For tyme y-lost may not recovered be.
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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 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.
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The devil can only destroy those who are already on their way to damnation.
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This world nys but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we been pilgrymes, passynge to and fro.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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And so it is in politics, dear brother, Each for himself alone, there is no other.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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The greatest scholars are not usually the wisest people.
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Nowhere so busy a man as he there was And yet he seemed busier than he was.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Woe to the cook whose sauce has no sting.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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And then the wren gan scippen and to daunce.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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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.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Murder will out, this my conclusion.
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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Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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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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I am not the rose, but I have lived near the rose.
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