William Congreve

William
Congreve
1670
1729

English Playwright, Dramatist and Poet

Author Quotes

If I can find Cerebus a sop, I shall be at rest for one day.

Nothing but you can lay hold of my mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you.

Shallow artifice begets suspicion, and like a cobweb veil, but thinly shades the face of thy design, alone disguising what should have ne'er been seen, imperfect mischief.

Thou liar of the first magnitude.

Why, at this rate, a fellow that has but a groat in his pocket may have a stomach capable of a ten-shilling ordinary.

If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.

O ay, letters - I had letters - I am persecuted with letters - I hate letters - nobody knows how to write letters and yet one has 'em, one does not know why - they serve one to pin up one's hair.

She is chaste who was never asked the question.

Though marriage makes man and wife one flesh, it leaves em still two fools.

Wife, spouse, my dear, joy, jewel, love, sweet-heart and the rest of that nauseous cant, in which men and their wives are so fulsomely familiar.

If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.

O call not to my mind what you have done! It sets a debt of that account before me, which shows me poor and bankrupt even in hopes!

She likes herself, yet others hates for that which in herself she prizes and while she laughs at them, forgets she is the thing that she despises.

Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure, Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.

Wit must be foiled by wit cut a diamond with a diamond.

I'll give you revenge another time, when you are not so indifferent; you are thinking of something else now, and play too negligently; the coldness of a losing gamester lessens the pleasure of the winner. I'd no more play with a man that slighted his ill fortune, than I'd make love to a woman who undervalued the loss of their reputation.

O fie miss, you must not kiss and tell.

She once used me with that insolence, that in revenge I took her to pieces sifted her, and separated her failings I studied 'em, and got 'em by rote. The catalogue was so large, that I was not without hopes, one day or other to hate her heartily.

Thus in this sad, but oh, too pleasing state! My soul can fix upon nothing but thee; thee it contemplates, admires, adores, nay depends on, trusts on you alone.

Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, which, to admire, we should not understand.

In my conscience I believe the baggage loves me, for she never speaks well of me herself, nor suffers anybody else to rail at me.

O sleep, why dost thou leave me? why thy visionary joy remove?

The coldness of a losing gamester lessens the pleasure of the winner. I would no more play with a man that slighted his ill fortune than I would make love to a woman who undervalued the loss of her reputation.

Thy wife is a constellation of virtues; she's the moon, and thou art the man in the moon.

Wou'd I were free from this restraint, Or else had hopes to win her Wou'd she cou'd make me a saint, Or I of her a sinner

Author Picture
First Name
William
Last Name
Congreve
Birth Date
1670
Death Date
1729
Bio

English Playwright, Dramatist and Poet