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Francois Villon
Quote #14
Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name.
More from Francois Villon
The Large Testament is a hurly-burly of cynical and sentimental reflections about life, jesting legacies to friends and enemies, and, inter…
There has been no greater artist in French verse, as there has been no greater poet; and the main part of the history of poetry in France i…
Vente, gresle, gelle, j'ay mon pain cuit. Ie suis paillart, la paillarde me suit. Lequel vault mieulx? Chascun bien s'entresuit. L'ung vaul…
But where is last year's snow? This was the greatest care that Villon, the Parisian poet, took.
Prince, aux dames Parisiennes De beau parler donnez le pris; Quoy qu'on die d'Italiennes, Il n'est bon bec que de Paris.
Mais, quoy que soit du laboureux mestier, Il n'est tresor que de vivre a son aise.
Deux estions et n'avions qu'ung cuer.
En ceste foy je vueil vivre et mourir.
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