A Quote by William Langland

For hevene myghte nat holden it, so was it hevy of hymself,Til it hadde of the erthe eten his fille.And whan it hadde of this fold flessh and blood taken,Was nevere leef upon lynde lighter therafter,And portatif and persaunt as the point of a nedle,That myghte noon armure it lette ne none heighe walles.Forthi is love ledere of the Lordes folk of hevene,And a meene, as the mair is, [inmiddes] the kyng and the commune.
For if hevene be on this erthe, and ese to any soule,It is in cloistre or in scole.
But al be that he was a philosophre, Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre.
But manly set the world on sixe and sevene; And, if thou deye a martir, go to hevene.
I love a broad margin to my life. Sometimes, in a summer morning, having taken my accustomed bath, I sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise til noon, rapt in a revery.
Sing songs that none have sung, think thoughts that ne'er in the brain have rung, Walk in paths that none have trod, weep tears as none have shed for God, Give peace to all to whom none other gave, Claim him your own who's everywhere disclaimed. Love all with love that none have felt and Brave the battle of life with strength unchained.
Thus with hir fader for a certeyn space Dwelleth this flour of wyfly pacience, That neither by hir wordes ne hir face Biforn the folk, ne eek in her absence, Ne shewed she that hir was doon offence.
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan A lady fair. Wha does the utmost that he can Will whyles do mair.
A fair feeld ful of folk fond I ther bitwene -Of alle manere of men, the meene and the riche,Werchynge and wandrynge as the world asketh.
He that will not whan he may,Whan he would, he shall haue nay.
We can't stop trying til we break up our minds, til the sun drips blood on the seedy young knight.
A bell's not a bell 'til you ring it, A song's not a song 'til you sing it, Love in your heart wasn't put there to stay, Love isn't love 'til you give it away!
And yes, Holden would keep those kids from falling off the cliff, but WHO WOULDN'T? Does she think I would just fold my arms or give them a pat on the back before they sailed headfirst to the ground? We are all catchers, and it's sad that she doesn't see it. Instead she sees the PHONINESS, she deplores the world even after I point out that I am in it.
Every blue-stocking will remain a spinster as long as there are sensible men on the earth. [Fr., Toute fille lettree restera fille toute sa vie, quand il n'y aura que des hommes senses sur la terre.]
Women have hunger two-fold, shyness four-fold, daring six-fold, and lust eight-fold as compared to men.
Men sholde nat knowe of Goddes pryvetee Ye, blessed be alwey, a lewed man That noght but oonly his believe kan! So ferde another clerk with astromye, He walked in the feelds, for to prye Upon the sterres, what ther sholde bifalle, Til he was in a marle-pit yfalle.
Let us not overstrain our talents, lest we do nothing gracefully: a clown, whatever he may do, will never pass for a gentleman. [Fr., Ne forcons point notre talent; Nous ne ferions rien avec grace: Jamais un lourdaud, quoi qu'il fasse, Ne saurit passer pour galant.]
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