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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
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William Congreve
Age: 58 †
Born: 1670
Born: January 24
Died: 1729
Died: January 19
Engineer
Librettist
Playwright
Poet
Translator
Writer
Woman
Decay
Sincerity
Wit
Sincere
Arguing
Parts
Constant
Beauty
Argues
More quotes by William Congreve
A woman only obliges a man to secrecy, that she may have the pleasure of telling herself.
William Congreve
Beauty is the lover's gift.
William Congreve
I know that’s a secret, for it’s whispered everywhere.
William Congreve
There is in true Beauty, as in Courage, somewhat which narrow Souls cannot dare to admire.
William Congreve
One minute gives invention to destroy What to rebuild, will a whole age employ.
William Congreve
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.
William Congreve
You are a woman: you must never speak what you think your words must contradict your thoughts, but your actions may contradict your words.
William Congreve
If happiness in self-content is placed, The wise are wretched, and fools only blessed.
William Congreve
Thou art a retailer of phrases, and dost deal in remnants of remnants.
William Congreve
They come together like the Coroner's Inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week.
William Congreve
No, I'm no enemy to learning it hurts not me.
William Congreve
Every man plays the fool once in his live, but to marry is playing the fool all one's life long.
William Congreve
Words are the weak support of cold indifference love has no language to be heard.
William Congreve
Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
William Congreve
These articles subscribed, if I continue to endure you a little longer, I may by degrees dwindle into wife.
William Congreve
Music alone with sudden charms can bind The wand'ring sense, and calm the troubled mind.
William Congreve
Some by experience find those words mis-placed: At leisure married, they repent in haste.
William Congreve
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
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.
William Congreve
They are at the end of the gallery retired to their tea and scandal, according to their ancient custom.
William Congreve
