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Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast...

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
Charm
Inspiration
Musick
Sooth
Charms
Savage
Savages
Breast
Breasts

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Who pleases one against his will.
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I hope you do not think me prone to any iteration of nuptials.
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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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I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.
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Say what you will, 'tis better to be left than never to have been loved.
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If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.
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They come together like the Coroner's Inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week.
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Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days.
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Music has charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak. I've read that things inanimate have moved, and, as with living souls, have been inform'd, by magic numbers and persuasive sound.
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I always take blushing either for a sign of guilt, or of ill breeding.
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A little scorn is alluring.
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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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Marriage indeed may qualify the fury of his passion, but it very rarely mends a man's manners.
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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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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 wit should no more be sincere, than a woman constant one argues a decay of parts, as to other of beauty.
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Women like flames have a destroying power never to be quenched till they themselves devour.
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I came up stairs into the world, for I was born in a cellar.
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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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