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Home
Authors
William Congreve
English
Poet
About the author
Come, come, leave business to idlers, and wisdom to fools: they have need of 'em: wit be my faculty, and pleasure my occupation, and let father Time shake his glass.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Time
#Occupation
#Wisdom
#Pleasure
#Business
#Father
#Wit
Invention flags, his brain goes muddy, and black despair succeeds brown study.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Study
#Invention
#Despair
#Flags
A hungry wolf at all the herd will run, In hopes, through many, to make sure of one.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Will
A little disdain is not amiss; a little scorn is alluring.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
A wit should be no more sincere than a woman constant.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Woman
#Wit
Beauty is the lover's gift.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Beauty
Courtship is to marriage, as a very witty prologue to a very dull play.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Play
#Marriage
#Courtship
#Witty
Grief walks upon the heels of pleasure; married in haste, we repent at leisure.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Pleasure
#Leisure
#Grief
#Haste
He who closes his ears to the views of others shows little confidence in the integrity of his own views.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Integrity
#Confidence
Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Love
#Hell
#Woman
#Heaven
#Hatred
I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a monkey, without very mortifying reflections.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Being
#Danger
I know that's a secret, for it's whispered every where.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Love
#Heart
#Delight
Fear comes from uncertainty. When we are absolutely certain, whether of our worth or worthlessness, we are almost impervious to fear.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Fear
#Worth
#Uncertainty
In my conscience I believe the baggage loves me, for she never speaks well of me herself, nor suffers any body else to rail at me.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Body
#Conscience
Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Music
#Oak
Never go to bed angry, stay up and fight.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Fight
#Bed
No, I'm no enemy to learning; it hurts not me.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Enemy
#Learning
Say what you will, 'tis better to be left than never to have been loved.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Will
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.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Prizes
There is in true beauty, as in courage, something which narrow souls cannot dare to admire.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Beauty
#Courage
They are at the end of the gallery; retired to their tea and scandal, according to their ancient custom.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#End
#Custom
#Tea
#Scandal
They come together like the Coroner's Inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
'Tis well enough for a servant to be bred at an University. But the education is a little too pedantic for a gentleman.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Education
#University
#Gentleman
To find a young fellow that is neither a wit in his own eye, nor a fool in the eye of the world, is a very hard task.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Eye
#World
#Wit
#Fool
Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Life
#Security
#Expectation
#Uncertainty
Wit must be foiled by wit: cut a diamond with a diamond.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Wit
You are a woman: you must never speak what you think; your words must contradict your thoughts, but your actions may contradict your words.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Words
#May
#Actions
#Thoughts
If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.
William Congreve,
English
Poet
#Love
#Madness