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Thus in this sad, but oh, too pleasing state! my soul can fix upon nothing but thee thee it contemplates, admires, adores, nay depends on, trusts on you alone.
William Congreve
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William Congreve
Age: 58 †
Born: 1670
Born: January 24
Died: 1729
Died: January 19
Engineer
Librettist
Playwright
Poet
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Writer
Adore
States
Admire
Soul
Thee
Adores
Nothing
Thus
Contemplates
Depends
Admires
Alone
Trusts
Pleasing
State
Contemplating
Upon
More quotes by William Congreve
'Tis well enough for a servant to be bred at an University. But the education is a little too pedantic for a gentleman.
William Congreve
Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
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Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days.
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Fear comes from uncertainty. When we are absolutely certain, whether of our worth or worthlessness, we are almost impervious to fear.
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Whoever is king, is also the father of his country.
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Women like flames have a destroying power never to be quenched till they themselves devour.
William Congreve
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.
William Congreve
Wit must be foiled by wit: cut a diamond with a diamond.
William Congreve
Words are the weak support of cold indifference love has no language to be heard.
William Congreve
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.
William Congreve
One minute gives invention to destroy What to rebuild, will a whole age employ.
William Congreve
A woman only obliges a man to secrecy, that she may have the pleasure of telling herself.
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Courtship is to marriage, as a very witty prologue to a very dull play.
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O ay, letters - I had letters - I am persecuted with letters - I hate letters - nobody knows how to write letters and yet one has 'em, one does not know why - they serve one to pin up one's hair.
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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 once used me with that insolence, that in revenge I took her to pieces sifted her, and separated her failings I studied 'em, and got 'em by rote. The catalogue was so large, that I was not without hopes, one day or other to hate her heartily.
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Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast...
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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.
William Congreve
Who pleases one against his will.
William Congreve
Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand
William Congreve