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Death is the end of every worldly pain.
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
Ends
Every
Worldly
Pain
Death
More quotes by Geoffrey Chaucer
For in their hearts doth Nature stir them so Then people long on pilgrimage to go And palmers to be seeking foreign strands To distant shrines renowned in sundry lands.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Drunkenness is the very sepulcher Of man's wit and his discretion.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Min be the travaille, and thin be the glorie.
Geoffrey Chaucer
There's no workman, whatsoever he be, That may both work well and hastily.
Geoffrey Chaucer
What's said is said and goes upon its way Like it or not, repent it as you may.
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
Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.
Geoffrey Chaucer
The fields have eyes, and the woods have ears.
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
The handsome gifts that fate and nature lend us Most often are the very ones that end us.
Geoffrey Chaucer
But all thing which that shineth as the gold Ne is no gold, as I have herd it told.
Geoffrey Chaucer
The bisy larke, messager of day.
Geoffrey Chaucer
He is gentle that doeth gentle deeds.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Pitee renneth soone in gentil herte.
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
First he wrought, and afterwards he taught.
Geoffrey Chaucer
. . . if gold rust, what then will iron do?/ For if a priest be foul in whom we trust/ No wonder that a common man should rust. . . .
Geoffrey Chaucer
In love there is but little rest.
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
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
