William Langland Quotes

There smites nothing so sharp, nor smelleth so sour as shame.

But all the wickedness in the world which man may do or think is no more to the mercy of God than a live coal dropped in the sea.

Like father, like son: every good tree maketh good fruits.

In a somer seson, whan softe was the sonne, I shoop me into shroudes as I a sheep were, In habite an heremite unholy of werkes, Went wide in this world wondres to here.

For if hevene be on this erthe, and ese to any soule,It is in cloistre or in scole.

I kan noght parfitly my Paternoster as the preest it syngeth,But I kan rymes of Robyn Hood and Randolf Erl of Chestre.

A fair feeld ful of folk fond I ther bitwene -Of alle manere of men, the meene and the riche,Werchynge and wandrynge as the world asketh.

Who will bell the cat?

Al the povere peple tho pescoddes fetten; Benes and baken apples thei broghte in hir lappe, Chibolles and chervelles and ripe chiries manye, And profrede Piers this present to plese with Hunger.