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We little know the things for which we pray.

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
Pray
Praying
Prayer
Littles
Little

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Patience is a conquering virtue.
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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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Thou shalt make castels thanne in Spayne And dreme of joye, all but in vayne.
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Make a virtue of necessity.
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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
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If gold rusts, what then can iron do?
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Full wise is he that can himselven knowe.
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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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Drunkenness is the very sepulcher Of man's wit and his discretion.
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Ther nis no werkman, whatsoevere he be, That may bothe werke wel and hastily.
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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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Who looks at me, beholdeth sorrows all, All pain, all torture, woe and all distress I have no need on other harms to call, As anguish, languor, cruel bitterness, Discomfort, dread, and madness more and less Methinks from heaven above the tears must rain In pity for my harsh and cruel pain.
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The handsome gifts that fate and nature lend us Most often are the very ones that end us.
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Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote.
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The gretteste clerkes been noght wisest men.
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For tyme y-lost may not recovered be.
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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.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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He is gentle that doeth gentle deeds.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Woe to the cook whose sauce has no sting.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken.
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