The fields have eyes, and the woods have ears.

Of alle the floures in the mede, Than love I most these floures whyte and rede, Swiche as men callen daysies in our toun. . . . . Til that myn herte dye. . . . . That wel by reson men hit calle may The 'dayesye' or elles the 'ye of day,' The emperice and flour of floures alle. I pray to god that faire mot she falle, And alle that loven floures, for hir sake!

If were not foolish young, were foolish old.

By God, if women had written stories, As clerks had within here oratories, They would have written of men more wickedness Than all the mark of Adam may redress.

Great peace is found in little busy-ness.

The handsome gifts that fate and nature lend us Most often are the very ones that end us.

There's never a new fashion but it's old.