Look up on high, and thank the God of all.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERHow potent is the fancy! People are so impressionable, they can die of imagination.
More Geoffrey Chaucer Quotes
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One shouldn’t be too inquisitive in life Either about God’s secrets or one’s wife.
GEOFFREY CHAUCER -
The greatest scholars are not usually the wisest people.
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There’s no workman, whatsoever he be, That may both work well and hastily.
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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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A yokel mind loves stories from of old, Being the kind it can repeat and hold.
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Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.
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He is gentle that doeth gentle deeds.
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The fields have eyes, and the woods have ears.
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Make a virtue of necessity.
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My house is small, but you are learned men And by your arguments can make a place Twenty foot broad as infinite as space.
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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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And she was fair as is the rose in May.
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Habit maketh no monk, ne wearing of gilt spurs maketh no knight.
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With empty hand no man can lure a hawk.
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Many a true word is spoken in jest.
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The handsome gifts that fate and nature lend us Most often are the very ones that end us.
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Many small make a great.
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He 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.
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He loved chivalry, Truth and honor, freedom and courtesy.
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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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A love grown old is not the love once new.
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I am not the rose, but I have lived near the rose.
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Certain, when I was born, so long ago, Death drew the tap of life and let it flow; And ever since the tap has done its task, And now there’s little but an empty cask.
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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.
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Men love newfangleness.
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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.
GEOFFREY CHAUCER