A monk ther was, a fair for the maistrie, An outridere, that lovede venerie, A manly man, to been an abbot able. — Geoffrey Chaucer Copy Share Image
Drunkenness is the very sepulcher Of man's wit and his discretion. — Geoffrey Chaucer Copy Share Image
Whoso will pray, he must fast and be clean, And fat his soul, and make his body lean. — Geoffrey Chaucer Copy Share Image
The handsome gifts that fate and nature lend us Most often are the very ones that end us. — Geoffrey Chaucer Copy Share Image
Patience is a conquering virtue. The learned say that, if it not desert you, It vanquishes what force can never reach; Why answer back… — Geoffrey Chaucer Copy Share Image
“This Nicholas anon leet fle a fart As greet as it had been a thonder-dent, That with the strook he was almoost yblent; And… — Geoffrey Chaucer Copy Share Image
A whetstone is no carving instrument, And yet it maketh sharp the carving tool; And if you see my efforts wrongly spent, Eschew that… — Geoffrey Chaucer Copy Share Image
“In general, my liege lady,’ he began, ‘Women desire to have dominion Over their husbands, and their lovers too; They want to have mastery… — Geoffrey Chaucer Copy Share Image
Venus me yaf my lust, my like rousnesse, And Mars yaf me my sturdy hardinesse. — Geoffrey Chaucer Copy Share Image
“For sondry scoles maken sotile clerkis; Womman of manye scoles half a clerk is.” — Geoffrey Chaucer Copy Share Image
