A love grown old is not the love once new.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERLook up on high, and thank the God of all.
More Geoffrey Chaucer Quotes
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People can die of mere imagination.
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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.
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How potent is the fancy! People are so impressionable, they can die of imagination.
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Take a cat, nourish it well with milk and tender meat, make it a couch of silk.
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And so it is in politics, dear brother, Each for himself alone, there is no other.
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Every honest miller has a golden thumb.
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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.
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The greatest scholars are not usually the wisest people.
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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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And she was fair as is the rose in May.
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Make a virtue of necessity.
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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.
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There’s never a new fashion but it’s old.
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If were not foolish young, were foolish old.
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The fields have eyes, and the woods have ears.
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And gladly would he learn and gladly teach.
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Full wise is he that can himself know.
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Habit maketh no monk, ne wearing of gilt spurs maketh no knight.
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I am not the rose, but I have lived near the rose.
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He is gentle that doeth gentle deeds.
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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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Death is the end of every worldly pain.
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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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But manly set the world on sixe and sevene; And, if thou die a martyr, go to heaven.
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All good things must come to an end.
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Harde is his heart that loveth nought In May.
GEOFFREY CHAUCER