In the stars is written the death of every man.

'My lige lady, generally,' quod he, 'Wommen desyren to have sovereyntee As well over hir housbond as hir love.'

One shouldn't be too inquisitive in life Either about God's secrets or one's wife.

Woe to the cook whose sauce has no sting.

Murder will out, this my conclusion.

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.

Men love newfangleness.