Hyt is not al golde that glareth.

But every thyng which schyneth as the gold, Nis nat gold, as that I have herd it told.

Habit maketh no monke, ne wearing of guilt spurs maketh no knight.

Chese now," quod she, "oon of thise thynges tweye:
To han me foul and old til that I deye,
And be to yow a trewe, humble wyf,
And nevere yow displese in al my lyf,
Or elles ye wol han me yong and fair,
And take youre aventure of the repair
That shal be to youre hous by cause of me,
Or in som oother place, may wel be.
Now chese yourselven, wheither that yow liketh.

There's never a new fashion but it's old. - The Canterbury Tales.

Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.