There is no rose Spryngyng in gardeyns, but ther be sum thorn.

Off oure language he was the lodesterre.

For princis ofte, of furious hastynesse, Wil cachche a quarrel, causeless in sentence, Ageyn folk absent, thouh ther be non offence.

For a story which is nat pleynli told, But constreynyd undir woordes fewe For lak off trouthe, wher thei be newe or olde, Men bi report kan nat the mater shewe.

I cannot but think that he who finds a certain proportion of pain and evil inseparably woven up in the life of the very worms, will bear his own share with mor…

Order and disorder, they each have their beauty

Maybe that's what life is... a wink of the eye and winking stars.