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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

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William Congreve
Age: 58 †
Born: 1670
Born: January 24
Died: 1729
Died: January 19
Engineer
Librettist
Playwright
Poet
Translator
Writer
Never
Conscience
Suffering
Baggage
Speak
Rail
Else
Suffers
Body
Speaks
Wells
Critics
Well
Loves
Believe
Criticism

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No mask like open truth to cover lies, As to go naked is the best disguise.
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Men are apt to offend ('tis true) where they find most goodness to forgive.
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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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I know that’s a secret, for it’s whispered everywhere.
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Guilt is ever at a loss, and confusion waits upon it when innocence and bold truth are always ready for expression.
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They are at the end of the gallery retired to their tea and scandal, according to their ancient custom.
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Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
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I am always of the opinion with the learned, if they speak first.
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O, she is the antidote to desire.
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Music alone with sudden charms can bind The wand'ring sense, and calm the troubled mind.
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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.
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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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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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Though marriage makes man and wife one flesh, it leaves 'em still two fools.
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There is nothing more unbecoming a man of quality than to laugh ... 'tis such a vulgar expression of the passion!
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'Tis well enough for a servant to be bred at an University. But the education is a little too pedantic for a gentleman.
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Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days.
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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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A little scorn is alluring.
William Congreve