And she was fair as is the rose in May.

How potent is the fancy! People are so impressionable, they can die of imagination.

Whoso will pray, he must fast and be clean, And fat his soul, and make his body lean.

Hyt is not al golde that glareth.

Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.

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.

If no love is, O God, what fele I so? And if love is, what thing and which is he? If love be good, from whennes cometh my woo? If it be wikke, a wonder thynketh me