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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

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William Congreve
Age: 58 †
Born: 1670
Born: January 24
Died: 1729
Died: January 19
Engineer
Librettist
Playwright
Poet
Translator
Writer
Despise
Prize
Likes
Despises
Laughing
Prizes
Forget
Forgets
Hate
Laughs
Others
Thing
Hates

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Some by experience find those words mis-placed: At leisure married, they repent in haste.
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Men are apt to offend ('tis true) where they find most goodness to forgive.
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If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.
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Courtship is to marriage, as a very witty prologue to a very dull play.
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I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.
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Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.
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Love's but a frailty of the mind, When 'tis not with ambition joined.
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I know a lady that loves to talk so incessantly, she won't give an echo fair play she has that everlasting rotation of tongue that an echo must wait till she dies before it can catch her last words!
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Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast...
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I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a monkey, without very mortifying reflections.
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Beauty is the lover's gift.
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Defer not till to-morrow to be wise, To-morrow's Sun to thee may never rise Or should to-morrow chance to cheer thy sight With her enlivening and unlook'd for light, How grateful will appear her dawning rays! As favours unexpected doubly please.
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A wit should no more be sincere, than a woman constant one argues a decay of parts, as to other of beauty.
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O fie, miss, you must not kiss and tell.
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Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
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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.
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Delay not till tomorrow to be wise tomorrow's sun to thee may neve rise.
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I always take blushing either for a sign of guilt, or of ill breeding.
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If happiness in self-content is placed, The wise are wretched, and fools only blessed.
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Marriage is honourable, as you say and if so, wherefore should Cuckoldom be a Discredit, being deriv'd from so honourable a Root?
William Congreve