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For of fortunes sharp adversitee The worst kynde of infortune is this, A man to han ben in prosperitee, And it remembren, whan it passed is.

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
Fortunes
Sharp
Passed
Fortune
Worst
Men

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How potent is the fancy! People are so impressionable, they can die of imagination.
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In April the sweet showers fall And pierce the drought of March to the root, and all The veins are bathed in liquor of such power As brings about the engendering of the flower.
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If gold rusts, what then can iron do?
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Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.
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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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Who then may trust the dice, at Fortune's throw?
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'My lige lady, generally,' quod he, 'Wommen desyren to have sovereyntee As well over hir housbond as hir love.'
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One cannot scold or complain at every word. Learn to endure patiently, or else, as I live and breathe, you shall learn it whether you want or not.
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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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Trouthe is the hyest thyng that man may kepe.
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The bisy larke, messager of day.
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For tyme ylost may nought recovered be.
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One eare it heard, at the other out it went.
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One shouldn't be too inquisitive in life Either about God's secrets or one's wife.
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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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Ther nis no werkman, whatsoevere he be, That may bothe werke wel and hastily.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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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
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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People can die of mere imagination.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Min be the travaille, and thin be the glorie.
Geoffrey Chaucer