For tyme ylost may nought recovered be.
Geoffrey ChaucerRead
For in their hearts doth Nature stir them so Then people long on pilgrimage to go And palmers to be seeking foreign strands To distant shrines renowned in sundry lands.
Interpretation
Nature inspires a deep longing in people to seek out new experiences and journeys.
This quote by Geoffrey Chaucer suggests that there is an inherent drive within humans, ignited by nature, that compels them to embark on journeys, particularly to seek out sacred or revered places far and wide. It reflects the universal human desire to explore, travel, and connect with different cultures and landscapes, driven by an inner quest for meaning or spiritual fulfillment.
In practice
Use this quote in a travel blog to emphasize the importance of nature in inspiring journeys.
For tyme ylost may nought recovered be.
If gold rusts, what then can iron do?
Thus with hir fader for a certeyn space_x000D_ _x000D_ Dwelleth this flour of wyfly pacience,_x000D_ _x000D_ That neither by hir wordes ne hir face_x000D_ _x000D_ Biforn the folk, ne eek in her absence,_x000D_ _x000D_ Ne shewed she that hir was doon offence.
Ther nis no werkman, whatsoevere he be, That may bothe werke wel and hastily.
For oute of olde feldys, as men sey,_x000D_ _x000D_ Comyth al this newe corn from yer to yere;_x000D_ _x000D_ And out of olde bokis, in good fey,_x000D_ _x000D_ Comyth al this newe science that men lere.
But Christ's lore and his apostles twelve,_x000D_ He taught and first he followed it himself.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.
We are telling our kids that nature is in the past and it probably doesn't count anymore, the future is in electronics, the boogeyman is in the woods, and playing outdoors is probably illicit and possibly illegal.
Nothing in all nature is so lovely and so vigorous, so perfectly at home in its environment, as a fish in the sea. Its surroundings give to it a beauty, quality, and power which are not its own. We take it out, and at once a poor, limp dull thing, fit for nothing, is gasping away its life. So the soul, sunk in God, living the life of prayer, is supported, filled, transformed in beauty, by a vitality and a power which are not its own.
It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it.
Nature hides her secrets because of her essential loftiness, but not by means of ruse.
If I had to choose, I would rather have birds than airplanes.
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