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Pitee renneth soone in gentil herte.

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

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The cat would eat fish but would not get her feet wet.
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The smylere with the knyf under the cloke.
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Who then may trust the dice, at Fortune's throw?
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Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken.
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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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All good things must come to an end.
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For tyme ylost may nought recovered be.
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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 lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne.
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One eare it heard, at the other out it went.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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At the ches with me she (Fortune) gan to pleye With her false draughts (pieces) dyvers/She staal on me, and took away my fers. And when I sawgh my fers awaye, Allas! I kouthe no lenger playe.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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The guilty think all talk is of themselves.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Mercy surpasses justice.
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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'My lige lady, generally,' quod he, 'Wommen desyren to have sovereyntee As well over hir housbond as hir love.'
Geoffrey Chaucer
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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.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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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.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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If gold rusts, what then can iron do?
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Min be the travaille, and thin be the glorie.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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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.
Geoffrey Chaucer