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.
Geoffrey ChaucerRead
For tyme ylost may nought recovered be.
Interpretation
Time lost cannot be regained.
This quote by Geoffrey Chaucer highlights the irreversible nature of time and the importance of making the best use of it. It serves as a reminder that once time goes by, it cannot be recovered, urging us to live fully and consciously in the present.
In practice
In a motivational speech about productivity and time management.
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.
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.
As ministers we ought to speak of God. We are human, however, and so cannot speak of God. We ought therefore to recognize both our obligation and our inability and by that very recognition give glory to God
The urge to save humanity is almost always a false front for the urge to rule.
A Witch is born out of the true hungers of her time,β she said. βI was born out of New York. The things that are most wrong here summoned me. ("Drink Entire: Against The Madness Of Crowds")
The public have an insatiable curiosity to know everything, except what is worth knowing.
Man should be master of his environment, not its slave. That is what freedom means.
Memory is the seamstress, and a capricious one at that. Memory runs her needle in and out, up and down, hither and thither. We know not what comes next, or what follows after. Thus, the most ordinary movement in the world, such as sitting down at a table and pulling the inkstand towards one, may agitate a thousand odd, disconnected fragments, now bright, now dim, hanging and bobbing and dipping and flaunting, like the underlinen of a family of fourteen on a line in a gale of wind.
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