Quotes to inspire and reflect

Ah God! Had I but studied In the days of my foolish youth. 1

The wrastling for this world axeth a fal.

Reule wel thyself, that other folk canst rede. And trouthe thee shal delivere, it is no drede.

Thing that is seyd is seyd; and forth it gooth.

For the proverbe seith that “manye smale maken a greet.” 16

My sone, keep wel thy tonge, and keep thy freend.

For whan a man hath over-greet a wit, Ful oft hym happeth to mysusen it.

Ful wys is he that kan hymselven knowe!

He was of knyghthod and of fredom flour.

Mordre wol out, certeyn, it wol nat faille. 15

This may wel be rym dogerel.

For dronkenesse is verray sepulture Of mannes wit and his discrecioun.

Trouthe is the hyeste thyng that men may kepe.

It is agayns the proces of nature.

Servant in love and lord in marriage.

But if a man be vertuous withal.

Pacience is an heigh vertu, certeyn.

Therfore bihoveth hire a ful long spoon That shal ete with a feend. 14

Men loven of propre kynde newefangelnesse.

Ther nys no werkman, whatsoevere he be, That may bothe werke wel and hastily; This wol be doon at leyser parfitly.

For love is blynd. 13

To take a wyf withouten avysement.

No wedded man so hardy be t’assaille His wyves pacience, in trust to fynde Grisildis, for in certein he shal faille!

O stormy peple! unsad and evere untrewe!

Love is noght oold as whan that it is newe.

Ye been oure lord, dooth with youre owene thyng Right as yow list.

For thogh we slepe, or wake, or rome, or ryde, Ay fleeth the tyme, it nyl no man abyde.

That he is gentil that dooth gentil dedis.

Looke who that is moost vertuous alway, Pryvee and apert, and most entendeth ay To do the gentil dedes that he kan; Taak hym for the grettest gentil man.

“My lige lady, generally,” quod he, “Wommen desiren have sovereynetee As well over hir housbond as hir love.”

As thikke as motes in the sonne-beem.

Whan she cast of hir smok.

But yet I hadde alwey a coltes tooth. Gat-toothed I was, and that bicam me weel.

Thereafter wol we crie al day and crave.

Greet prees at market maketh deere ware, And to greet cheep is holde at litel prys.

In his owene grece I made hym frye. 12

By God! in erthe I was his purgatorie, For which I hope his Soule be in glorie.

But, Lord Crist! whan that it remembreth me Upon my yowthe, and on my jolitee, It tikleth me aboute myn herte roote. Unto this day it dooth myn herte boote That I have had my world as in my tyme.

Sathan, that evere us waiteth to bigile.

She is mirour of alle curteisye. 11

For in the sterres, clerer than is glas, Is writen, God woot, whoso koude it rede, The deeth of every man.

Thurgh thikke and thurgh thenne. 10

So was hir joly whistle wel ywet.

The gretteste clerkes been noght the wisest men.

Yet in our asshen olde is fyr yreke.

And broghte of myghty ale a large quart.

“Tehee!” quod she, and clapte the wyndow to.

Jhesu Crist, and seiynte Benedight, Blesse this hous from every wikked wight.