“Filth and old age, I’m sure you will agree, are powerful wardens upon chastity.”

Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.

He loved chivalry, Truth and honor, freedom and courtesy.

Take a cat, nourish it well with milk and tender meat, make it a couch of silk.

One flesh they are; and one flesh, so I’d guess, Has but one heart, come grief or happiness.

The life so short, the craft so long to learn.

Love will not be constrain’d by mastery. When mast’ry comes, the god of love anon Beateth his wings, and, farewell, he is gone. Love is a thing as any spirit free.

If a man really loves a woman, of course he wouldn’t marry her for the world if he were not quite sure that he was the best person she could possibly marry.

By God, if women had written stories, As clerks had within here oratories, They would have written of men more wickedness Than all the mark of Adam may redress.

Woe to the cook whose sauce has no sting.

With empty hand no man can lure a hawk.

If love be good, from whence cometh my woe?

There’s no workman, whatsoever he be, That may both work well and hastily.

Every honest miller has a golden thumb.

Harde is his heart that loveth nought In May.

Abstinence is approved of God.

What is better than wisdom? Woman. And what is better than a good woman? Nothing.

When the venerable pontiff’s hour has come, a Roman of good age shall be elected, of whom it will be said that he dishonored his throne though he held it long, with virtuous acts.

All for ourselves, and nothing for other people, seems, in every age of the world, to have been the vile maxim of the masters of mankind.

Age is never so old as youth would measure it.

Every age that has historical status is governed by aristocracies. Aristocracy with the meaning – the best are ruling. Peoples do never govern themselves. That lunacy was concocted by liberalism. Behind its people’s sovereignty the slyest cheaters are hiding, who don’t want to be recognized.

The age of hairsplitting Jewish intellectualism is dead. The past lies in flames.

I think true love – love, wine and beauty, they better with age.

At the age when Bengali youth almost inevitably writes poetry, I was listening to European classical music.

Are you green and growing or ripe and rotting?