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

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
Married
Marriage
Treads
Walks
Haste
Pleasure
Repent
Upon
Heels
Still
Leisure
Thus
Grief

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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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They come together like the Coroner's Inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week.
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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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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.
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Though marriage makes man and wife one flesh, it leaves 'em still two fools.
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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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Thou art a retailer of phrases, and dost deal in remnants of remnants.
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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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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.
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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.
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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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Whoever is king, is also the father of his country.
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These articles subscribed, if I continue to endure you a little longer, I may by degrees dwindle into wife.
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Turn pimp, flatterer, quack, lawyer, parson, be chaplain to an atheist, or stallion to an old woman, anything but a poet for a poet is worse, more servile, timorous and fawning than any I have named.
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Music alone with sudden charms can bind The wand'ring sense, and calm the troubled mind.
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Mr Witwould: Pray, madam, do you pin up your hair with all your letters? I find I must keep copies. Mrs Millamant: Only with those in verse.... I never pin up my hair with prose.
William Congreve
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Some by experience find those words mis-placed: At leisure married, they repent in haste.
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Women like flames have a destroying power never to be quenched till they themselves devour.
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I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.
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Nothing but you can lay hold of my mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you.
William Congreve