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Women like flames have a destroying power never to be quenched till they themselves devour.

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
Flames
Destroying
Till
Power
Women
Never
Like
Quenched
Devour

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If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.
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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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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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Nothing but you can lay hold of my mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you.
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Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
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Who pleases one against his will.
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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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Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast...
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If happiness in self-content is placed, The wise are wretched, and fools only blessed.
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There is in true Beauty, as in Courage, somewhat which narrow Souls cannot dare to admire.
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Courtship is to marriage, as a very witty prologue to a very dull play.
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Thou art a retailer of phrases, and dost deal in remnants of remnants.
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I nauseate walking 'tis a country diversion, I loathe the country.
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Wit must be foiled by wit: cut a diamond with a diamond.
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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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I am a fool, I know it and yet, Heaven help me, I'm poor enough to be a wit.
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Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.
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I am always of the opinion with the learned, if they speak first.
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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
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Though marriage makes man and wife one flesh, it leaves 'em still two fools.
William Congreve