The lyf so short, the craft so longe to lerne. Th' assay so hard, so sharp the conquerynge, The dredful joye, alwey that slit so yerne; Al this mene I be love... For out of olde feldes, as men seith, Cometh al this new corn fro yeer to yere; And out of olde bokes, in good feith, Cometh al this newe science that men lere.

The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne.

Woe to the cook whose sauce has no sting.

Great peace is found in little busy-ness.

Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.

Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.

All good things must come to an end.