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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
Body
Speaks
Wells
Critics
Well
Loves
Believe
Criticism
Never
Conscience
Suffering
Baggage
Speak
Rail
Else
Suffers

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I am a fool, I know it and yet, Heaven help me, I'm poor enough to be a wit.
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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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I nauseate walking 'tis a country diversion, I loathe the country.
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A hungry wolf at all the herd will run, In hopes, through many, to make sure of one.
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Fear comes from uncertainty. When we are absolutely certain, whether of our worth or worthlessness, we are almost impervious to fear.
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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 fie, miss, you must not kiss and tell.
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I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.
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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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Some by experience find those words mis-placed: At leisure married, they repent in haste.
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Love's but a frailty of the mind, When 'tis not with ambition joined.
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I always take blushing either for a sign of guilt, or of ill breeding.
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If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.
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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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One minute gives invention to destroy What to rebuild, will a whole age employ.
William Congreve
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He who closes his ears to the views of others shows little confidence in the integrity of his own views.
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Music has charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak. I've read that things inanimate have moved, and, as with living souls, have been inform'd, by magic numbers and persuasive sound.
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Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.
William Congreve
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Thou art a retailer of phrases, and dost deal in remnants of remnants.
William Congreve
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Honor is a public enemy, and conscience a domestic, and he that would secure his pleasure, must pay a tribute to one and go halves with t'other.
William Congreve