“When that Aprille with his shoures sote.The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote, And bathed every veyne in swich licour,Of which vertue engendred is the flour.”

“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.”

“And if love is, what thing and which is he? If love be good, from whennes cometh my woo?”

“For hym was levere have at his beddes heedTwenty bookes, clad in blak or reed,Of Aristotle and his philosophie,Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrie.”

“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”

“But Christ's lore and his apostles twelve,He taught and first he followed it himself.”

“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.”