Quotes to inspire and reflect

O yonge, fresshe folkes, he or she, In which that love up groweth with youre age, Repeyreth hom fro worldly vanyte.

Ek gret effect men write in place lite; Th’ entente is al, and nat the lettres space.

Go, litel bok, go, litel myn tragedye. 7

This sodeyn Diomede.

Ye, fare wel al the snow of ferne yere! 6

Trewe as stiel.

That Paradis stood formed in her yën.

For he that naught n’ assaieth, naught n’ acheveth.

For tyme ylost may nought recovered be.

Oon ere it herde, at tothir out it wente. 3

But manly sette the world on six and sevene; 4 And if thow deye a martyr, go to hevene!

Right as an aspes leef she gan to quake.

For of fortunes sharpe adversitee The worste kynde of infortune is this, A man to han ben in prosperitee, And it remembren, whan it passed is.

For I have seyn, of a ful misty morwe Folowen ful often a myrie someris day.

Lord, this is an huge rayn! This were a weder for to slepen inne!

Til crowes feet be growen under youre yë.

O wynd, o wynd, the weder gynneth clere.

Unknowe, unkist, and lost, that is unsought.

If no love is, O God, what fele I so? And if love is, what thing and which is he? If love be good, from whennes cometh my woo?

But the Troian gestes, as they felle, In Omer, or in Dares, or in Dite, Whoso that kan may rede hem as they write.

Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne softe, That hast this wintres wedres overshake.

For out of olde feldes, as men seyth, Cometh al this newe corn fro yer to yere; 2 And out of olde bokes, in good feyth, Cometh al this newe science that men lere.

Nature, the vicaire of the almyghty lorde.

As round as appil was his face.

The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne, Th’ assay so hard, so sharp the conquerynge.

Hard is the herte that loveth nought In May.

For nakid as a worm was she.

Soun ys noght but eyr ybroken, And every speche that ys spoken, Lowd or pryvee, foul or fair, In his substaunce ys but air.

Venus clerk, Ovide, That hath ysowen wonder wide The grete god of Loves name.

Love with delight discourses in my mind Upon my lady’s admirable gifts… Beyond the range of human intellect.

There is no greater sorrow Than to be mindful of the happy time In misery. 9

Love hath so long possessed me for his own And made his lordship so familiar.

Lord Jesu, blessed Pelican. 4

Thus Angels’ Bread is made The Bread of man today: The Living Bread from Heaven With figures doth away: O wondrous gift indeed! The poor and lowly may Upon their Lord and Master feed. 2

O saving Victim, opening wide The gate of heaven to man below, Our foes press on from every side, Thine aid supply, Thy strength bestow. 3

Down in adoration falling, Lo! the sacred Host we hail; Lo! o’er ancient forms departing, Newer rites of grace prevail; Faith for all defects supplying, Where the feeble senses fail.

Sing, my tongue, the Savior’s glory, Of His Flesh the mystery sing; Of the Blood, all price exceeding, Shed by our immortal King. 1

Someone spoke of your death, Heraclitus. 4 It brought me Tears, and I remembered how often together We ran the sun down with talk… somewhere You’ve long been dust, my Halicarnassian friend. But your Nightingales live on. Though the Deathworld Claws at everything, it will not touch them. 3

Empty hills, no one in sight, only the sound of someone talking; late sunlight enters the deep wood, shining over the green moss again. 1

With a little gift; and precious are all things that come from friends.

You’re 2 walking by the tomb of Battiades, Who knew well how to write poetry, and enjoy Laughter at the right moment, over the wine.

The frog’s life is most jolly, my lads; he has no care Who shall fill up his cup; for he has drink enough to spare.

Cicala to cicala is dear, and ant to ant, And kestrels dear to kestrels, but to me the Muse and song.

Our concern be peace of mind: some old crone let us seek, To spit on us for luck and keep unlovely things afar.

Sweet is the whispering music of yonder pine that sings.

I am amazed that anyone who has made a fortune should send for his friends.

Even if you persuade me, you won’t persuade me.

A savage-creating stubborn-pulling fellow, Uncurbed, unfettered, uncontrolled of speech, Unperiphrastic, bombastiloquent. 6