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The handsome gifts that fate and nature lend us Most often are the very ones that end us.
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
Gifts
Fate
Ones
Talent
Often
Nature
Ends
Lend
Handsome
More quotes by Geoffrey Chaucer
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.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Woe to the cook whose sauce has no sting.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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.
Geoffrey Chaucer
What is better than wisdom? Woman. And what is better than a good woman? Nothing.
Geoffrey Chaucer
We little know the things for which we pray.
Geoffrey Chaucer
For tyme ylost may nought recovered be.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Patience is a conquering virtue.
Geoffrey Chaucer
The guilty think all talk is of themselves.
Geoffrey Chaucer
He that loveth God will do diligence to please God by his works, and abandon himself, with all his might, well for to do.
Geoffrey Chaucer
This world nys but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we been pilgrymes, passynge to and fro.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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
People can die of mere imagination.
Geoffrey Chaucer
First he wrought, and afterwards he taught.
Geoffrey Chaucer
To keep demands as much skill as to win.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Soun is noght but air ybroken, And every speche that is spoken, Loud or privee, foul or fair, In his substaunce is but air For as flaumbe is but lighted smoke, Right so soun is air ybroke.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Nowhere so busy a man as he there was And yet he seemed busier than he was.
Geoffrey Chaucer
The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Min be the travaille, and thin be the glorie.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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
