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I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a monkey, without very mortifying reflections.

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
Long
Freely
Never
Reflection
Evolution
Upon
Mortifying
Science
Reflections
Look
Monkey
Without
Confess
Looks
Monkeys

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Marriage is honourable, as you say and if so, wherefore should Cuckoldom be a Discredit, being deriv'd from so honourable a Root?
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O fie, miss, you must not kiss and tell.
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Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast...
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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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Nothing but you can lay hold of my mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you.
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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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These articles subscribed, if I continue to endure you a little longer, I may by degrees dwindle into wife.
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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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O, nothing is more alluring than a levee from a couch in some confusion.
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All well bred persons lie - Besides, you are a woman you must never speak what you think.
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I am always of the opinion with the learned, if they speak first.
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Women like flames have a destroying power never to be quenched till they themselves devour.
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I nauseate walking 'tis a country diversion, I loathe the country.
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One minute gives invention to destroy What to rebuild, will a whole age employ.
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Music alone with sudden charms can bind The wand'ring sense, and calm the troubled mind.
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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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A little scorn is alluring.
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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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Beauty is the lover's gift.
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Words are the weak support of cold indifference love has no language to be heard.
William Congreve