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With emptie hands men may no haukes lure.

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
Lure
Hands
May
Men

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I gave my whole heart up, for him to hold.
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Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.
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Patience is a conquering virtue. The learned say that, if it not desert you, It vanquishes what force can never reach Why answer back at every angry speech? No, learn forbearance or, I'll tell you what, You will be taught it, whether you will or not.
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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.
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All good things must come to an end.
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He that loveth God will do diligence to please God by his works, and abandon himself, with all his might, well for to do.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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One cannot be avenged for every wrong according to the occasion, everyone who knows how, must use temperance.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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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.
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Ful wys is he that kan hymselven knowe.
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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.
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Time lost, as men may see, For nothing may recovered be.
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The fields have eyes, and the woods have ears.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Ther nis no werkman, whatsoevere he be, That may bothe werke wel and hastily.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Who then may trust the dice, at Fortune's throw?
Geoffrey Chaucer
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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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Thou shalt make castels thanne in Spayne And dreme of joye, all but in vayne.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Woe to the cook whose sauce has no sting.
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