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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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Let us be very strange and well-bred:Let us be as strange as if we had been married a great whileAnd as well-bred as if we were not married at all.
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You are a woman: you must never speak what you think your words must contradict your thoughts, but your actions may contradict your words.
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Delay not till tomorrow to be wise tomorrow's sun to thee may neve rise.
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Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing.
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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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Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.
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A hungry wolf at all the herd will run, In hopes, through many, to make sure of one.
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O, she is the antidote to desire.
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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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Music alone with sudden charms can bind The wand'ring sense, and calm the troubled mind.
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Some by experience find those words mis-placed: At leisure married, they repent in haste.
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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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Whoever is king, is also the father of his country.
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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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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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Women like flames have a destroying power never to be quenched till they themselves devour.
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To converse with Scandal is to play at Losing Loadum, you must lose a good name to him, before you can win it for yourself.
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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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In my conscience I believe the baggage loves me, for she never speaks well of me herself, nor suffers any body else to rail at me.
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A little scorn is alluring.
William Congreve