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This world nys but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we been pilgrymes, passynge to and fro.

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
World

More quotes by Geoffrey Chaucer

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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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Look up on high, and thank the God of all.
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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.
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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
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The bisy larke, messager of day.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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And then the wren gan scippen and to daunce.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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I gave my whole heart up, for him to hold.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Death is the end of every worldly pain.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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With emptie hands men may no haukes lure.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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But all thing which that shineth as the gold Ne is no gold, as I have herd it told.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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The gretteste clerkes been noght wisest men.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Woe to the cook whose sauce has no sting.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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The smylere with the knyf under the cloke.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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First he wrought, and afterwards he taught.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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There's no workman, whatsoever he be, That may both work well and hastily.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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And so it is in politics, dear brother, Each for himself alone, there is no other.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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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
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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.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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For tyme y-lost may not recovered be.
Geoffrey Chaucer