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Invention flags, his brain goes muddy, And black despair succeeds brown study.

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
Brain
Succeeds
Black
Flags
Brown
Invention
Despair
Succeed
Goes
Study
Muddy

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I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.
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Thou art a retailer of phrases, and dost deal in remnants of remnants.
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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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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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Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days.
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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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Love's but a frailty of the mind, When 'tis not with ambition joined.
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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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Though marriage makes man and wife one flesh, it leaves 'em still two fools.
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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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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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No, I'm no enemy to learning it hurts not me.
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I nauseate walking 'tis a country diversion, I loathe the country.
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I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a monkey, without very mortifying reflections.
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No mask like open truth to cover lies, As to go naked is the best disguise.
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If happiness in self-content is placed, The wise are wretched, and fools only blessed.
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But say what you will, 'tis better to be left than never to have been loved. To pass our youth in dull indifference, to refuse the sweets of life because they once must leave us, is as preposterous as to wish to have been born old, because we one day must be old.
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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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Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
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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.
William Congreve