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Wit must be foiled by wit: cut a diamond with a diamond.

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
Wit
Cutting
Must
Foiled
Jewelry
Diamond

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I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.
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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.
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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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O, nothing is more alluring than a levee from a couch in some confusion.
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Every man plays the fool once in his live, but to marry is playing the fool all one's life long.
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There are come Critics so with Spleen diseased, They scarcely come inclining to be pleased: And sure he must have more than mortal Skill, Who please one against his Will.
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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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There is in true Beauty, as in Courage, somewhat which narrow Souls cannot dare to admire.
William Congreve
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I came up stairs into the world, for I was born in a cellar.
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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.
William Congreve
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Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
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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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Marriage indeed may qualify the fury of his passion, but it very rarely mends a man's manners.
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Love's but the frailty of the mind, When 'tis not with ambition joined A sickly flame, which if not fed expires And feeding, wastes in self-consuming fires.
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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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Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.
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No, I'm no enemy to learning it hurts not me.
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Thou art a retailer of phrases, and dost deal in remnants of remnants.
William Congreve
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A little scorn is alluring.
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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!
William Congreve