What’s said is said and goes upon its way Like it or not, repent it as you may.
The guilty think all talk is of themselves.
Whoso will pray, he must fast and be clean, And fat his soul, and make his body lean.
No empty handed man can lure a bird.
The smylere with the knyf under the cloke.
The devil can only destroy those who are already on their way to damnation.
The greatest scholars are not usually the wisest people.
Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.
People can die of mere imagination.
Purity in body and heart May please some – as for me, I make no boast. For, as you know, no master of a household Has all of his utensils made of gold; Some are wood, and yet they are of use.
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.
How potent is the fancy! People are so impressionable, they can die of imagination.
If gold rusts, what then can iron do?
And she was fair as is the rose in May.
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? If it be wikke, a wonder thynketh me.
The life so brief, the art so long in the learning, the attempt so hard, the conquest so sharp, the fearful joy that ever slips away so quickly – by all this I mean love, which so sorely astounds my feeling with its wondrous operation, that when I think upon it I scarce know whether I wake or sleep.
Yet do not miss the moral, my good men. For Saint Paul says that all that’s written well Is written down some useful truth to tell. Then take the wheat and let the chaff lie still.
That of all the floures in the mede, Thanne love I most these floures white and rede, Suche as men callen daysyes in her toune.
Woe to the cook whose sauce has no sting.
One flesh they are; and one flesh, so I’d guess, Has but one heart, come grief or happiness.