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Look up on high, and thank the God of all.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Geoffrey Chaucer
Died: 1400
Died: October 25
Astrologer
Linguist
Lyricist
Philosopher
Poet
Politician
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London
England
Chaucer
Geoffrey Chaucer
Thankfulness
Thank
High
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More quotes by Geoffrey Chaucer
Ther nis no werkman, whatsoevere he be, That may bothe werke wel and hastily.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Who then may trust the dice, at Fortune's throw?
Geoffrey Chaucer
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.
Geoffrey Chaucer
But manly set the world on sixe and sevene And, if thou deye a martir, go to hevene.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Trouthe is the hyest thyng that man may kepe.
Geoffrey Chaucer
If gold rusts, what then can iron do?
Geoffrey Chaucer
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote.
Geoffrey Chaucer
One shouldn't be too inquisitive in life Either about God's secrets or one's wife.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Fie on possession, But if a man be vertuous withal.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Murder will out, this my conclusion.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Thus with hir fader for a certeyn space Dwelleth this flour of wyfly pacience, That neither by hir wordes ne hir face Biforn the folk, ne eek in her absence, Ne shewed she that hir was doon offence.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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
And then the wren gan scippen and to daunce.
Geoffrey Chaucer
In love there is but little rest.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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
Min be the travaille, and thin be the glorie.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Make a virtue of necessity.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Fo lo, the gentil kind of the lioun! For when a flye offendeth him or byteth, He with his tayl awey the flye smyteth Al esily, for, of his genterye, Him deyneth net to wreke him on a flye, As cloth a curre or elles another beste.
Geoffrey Chaucer