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He who accepts his poverty unhurt I'd say is rich although he lacked a shirt. But truly poor are they who whine and fret and covet what they cannot hope to get.

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
Accepting
Lacked
Rich
Accepts
Poor
Consumerism
Hope
Shirt
Cannot
Shirts
Although
Covet
Truly
Whine
Poverty
Fret

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First he wrought, and afterwards he taught.
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In general, women desire to rule over their husbands and lovers, to be the authority above them.
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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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Death is the end of every worldly pain.
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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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Drunkenness is the very sepulcher Of man's wit and his discretion.
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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.
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Women naturally desire the same six things as I they want their husbands to be brave, wise, rich, generous with money, obedient to the wife, and lively in bed.
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I gave my whole heart up, for him to hold.
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Thou shalt make castels thanne in Spayne And dreme of joye, all but in vayne.
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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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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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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.
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And so it is in politics, dear brother, Each for himself alone, there is no other.
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This world nys but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we been pilgrymes, passynge to and fro.
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The cat would eat fish but would not get her feet wet.
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Fie on possession, But if a man be vertuous withal.
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