Quotes to inspire and reflect

This world nys but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we been pilgrymes, passing to and fro. Deeth is an ende of every worldly soore.

And was al his chiere, as in his herte.

What is this world? what asketh men to have? Now with his love, now in his colde grave Allone, withouten any compaignye.

Up roos the sonne, and up roose Emelye.

Myn be the travaille, and thyn be the glorie!

The smylere with the knyf under the cloke.

Upon his shuldres wynges hadde he two; And blynd he was, as it is often seene; A bowe he bar and arwes brighte and kene.

For pitee renneth soone in gentil herte.

Now up, now doun, as boket in a welle.

That “feeld hath eyen, and the wode hath eres.” 9

May, with alle thy floures and thy grene, Welcome be thou, faire, fresshe May.

The bisy larke, messager of day.

Ech man for hymself.

Whoso shal telle a tale after a man, He moot reherce as ny as evere he kan Everich a word, if it be in his charge, Al speke he never so rudeliche and large, Or ellis he moot telle his tale untrewe, Or feyne thyng, or fynde wordes new.

For May wol have no slogardie anyght. The sesoun priketh every gentil herte, And maketh hym out of his slep to sterte.

Wel loved he garleek, oynons, and eek lekes, And for to drynken strong wyn, reed as blood.

And whan that he wel dronken hadde the wyn, Than wolde he speke no word but Latyn.

And yet he hadde a thombe of gold. 8

That hadde a fyr-reed cherubynnes face.

But Cristes loore and his apostles twelve He taughte, but first he folwed it hymselve.

If gold ruste, what shal iren do?

She was a worthy womman al hit lyve, Housbondes at chirche dore she hadde fyve.

This noble ensample to his sheep he yaf, That first he wroghte, and afterward he taughte.

His studie was but litel on the Bible.

For gold in phisik is a cordial, Therefore he lovede gold in special.

It snewed in his hous of mete and drynke.

For he was Epicurus owene sone.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.

Nowher so bisy a man as he ther nas, And yet he semed bisier than he was.

As leene was his hors as is a rake.

For hym was levere have at his beddes heed Twenty bookes, clad in blak or reed, Of Aristotle and his philosophie, Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrie, But al be that he was a philosophre, Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre.

Somwhat he lipsed, for his wantownesse, To make his Englissh sweete upon his tonge.

A Clerk ther was of Oxenford also.

A Frere ther was, a wantowne and a merye.

He knew the tavernes wel in every toun.

And theron heng a brooch of gold ful sheene, On which ther was first write a crowned A, And after Amor vincit omnia.

His palfrey was as broun as is a berye.

Ful weel she soong the service dyvyne, Entuned in hir nose ful semely; And Frenssh she spak ful faire and fetisly, After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe For Frenssh of Parys was to hir unknowe.

She wolde wepe, if that she saugh a mous Kaught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde.

He koude songes make and wel endyte.

Curteis he was, lowely, and servysable, And carf biforn his fader at the table.

He was a verray, parfit gentil knyght.

He was as fressh as is the month of May.

And smale foweles maken melodye, That slepen al the nyght with open yë, (So priketh hem nature in hit corages); Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages.

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote.

Whan that the month of May Is comen, and that I here the foules synge, And that the floures gynnen for to sprynge, Farewel my bok, and my devocioun!

That, of al the floures in the mede, Thanne love I most thise floures white and rede, Swiche as men callen daysyes in our toun.

O moral Gower, this book I directe To the.