Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote. — Geoffrey Chaucer Copy Share Image
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. — 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
