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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
Still
Leisure
Thus
Grief
Married
Marriage
Treads
Walks
Haste
Pleasure
Repent
Upon
Heels
More quotes by William Congreve
They are at the end of the gallery retired to their tea and scandal, according to their ancient custom.
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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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No mask like open truth to cover lies, As to go naked is the best disguise.
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Beauty is the lover's gift.
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He that first cries out stop thief, is often he that has stolen the treasure.
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Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing.
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How hard a thing 'twould be to please you all.
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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
Who pleases one against his will.
William Congreve
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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If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.
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I am a fool, I know it and yet, Heaven help me, I'm poor enough to be a wit.
William Congreve
Marriage indeed may qualify the fury of his passion, but it very rarely mends a man's manners.
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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.
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O, nothing is more alluring than a levee from a couch in some confusion.
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Thou art a retailer of phrases, and dost deal in remnants of remnants.
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Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.
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I know that’s a secret, for it’s whispered everywhere.
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Men are apt to offend ('tis true) where they find most goodness to forgive.
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Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand
William Congreve