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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
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Writer
Till
Power
Women
Never
Like
Quenched
Devour
Flames
Destroying
More quotes by William Congreve
Invention flags, his brain goes muddy, And black despair succeeds brown study.
William Congreve
Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing.
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A wit should no more be sincere, than a woman constant one argues a decay of parts, as to other of beauty.
William Congreve
If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.
William Congreve
O fie, miss, you must not kiss and tell.
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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.
William Congreve
A woman only obliges a man to secrecy, that she may have the pleasure of telling herself.
William Congreve
Music alone with sudden charms can bind The wand'ring sense, and calm the troubled mind.
William Congreve
If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.
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
Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days.
William Congreve
Men are apt to offend ('tis true) where they find most goodness to forgive.
William Congreve
I am always of the opinion with the learned, if they speak first.
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All well bred persons lie - Besides, you are a woman you must never speak what you think.
William Congreve
Marriage is honourable, as you say and if so, wherefore should Cuckoldom be a Discredit, being deriv'd from so honourable a Root?
William Congreve
I am a fool, I know it and yet, Heaven help me, I'm poor enough to be a wit.
William Congreve
Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand
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How hard a thing 'twould be to please you all.
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If happiness in self-content is placed, The wise are wretched, and fools only blessed.
William Congreve