Time lost, as men may see, For nothing may recovered be.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERHe 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.
More Geoffrey Chaucer Quotes
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With empty hands men may no hauks lure.
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And gladly would he learn and gladly teach.
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If were not foolish young, were foolish old.
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Men love newfangleness.
GEOFFREY CHAUCER -
But Christ’s lore and his apostles twelve, He taught and first he followed it himself.
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Death is the end of every worldly pain.
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Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.
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The cat would eat fish but would not get her feet wet.
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We little know the things for which we pray.
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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 -
What is better than wisdom? Woman. And what is better than a good woman? Nothing.
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And so it is in politics, dear brother, Each for himself alone, there is no other.
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Abstinence is approved of God.
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The guilty think all talk is of themselves.
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If love be good, from whence cometh my woe?
GEOFFREY CHAUCER -
There’s never a new fashion but it’s old.
GEOFFREY CHAUCER -
If gold rust, what then will iron do? For if a priest be foul in whom we trust/ No wonder that a common man should rust.
GEOFFREY CHAUCER -
Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.
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And she was fair as is the rose in May.
GEOFFREY CHAUCER -
I am not the rose, but I have lived near the rose.
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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 -
My house is small, but you are learned men And by your arguments can make a place Twenty foot broad as infinite as space.
GEOFFREY CHAUCER -
Time and tide wait for no man.
GEOFFREY CHAUCER -
If gold rusts, what then can iron do?
GEOFFREY CHAUCER -
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.
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Woe to the cook whose sauce has no sting.
GEOFFREY CHAUCER