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They come together like the Coroner's Inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week.

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
Come
Reputations
Like
Murdered
Gossip
Reputation
Murder
Week
Upon
Inquest
Together
Coroner

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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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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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A hungry wolf at all the herd will run, In hopes, through many, to make sure of one.
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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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If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.
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Thou art a retailer of phrases, and dost deal in remnants of remnants.
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It is the business of a comic poet to paint the vices and follies of human kind.
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Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing.
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I hope you do not think me prone to any iteration of nuptials.
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Wit must be foiled by wit: cut a diamond with a diamond.
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Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days.
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Men are apt to offend ('tis true) where they find most goodness to forgive.
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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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O fie, miss, you must not kiss and tell.
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No mask like open truth to cover lies, As to go naked is the best disguise.
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I am a fool, I know it and yet, Heaven help me, I'm poor enough to be a wit.
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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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Would any thing but a madman complain of uncertainty? Uncertainty and expectation are joys of life security is an insipid thing and the overtaking and possessing of a wish discovers the folly of the chase.
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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!
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Women like flames have a destroying power never to be quenched till they themselves devour.
William Congreve