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It is the business of a comic poet to paint the vices and follies of human kind.
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
Comic
Paint
Kindness
Poet
Business
Human
Follies
Humans
Folly
Kind
Vices
More quotes by William Congreve
Whoever is king, is also the father of his country.
William Congreve
Marriage indeed may qualify the fury of his passion, but it very rarely mends a man's manners.
William Congreve
Who pleases one against his will.
William Congreve
To find a young fellow that is neither a wit in his own eye, nor a fool in the eye of the world, is a very hard task.
William Congreve
Fear comes from uncertainty. When we are absolutely certain, whether of our worth or worthlessness, we are almost impervious to fear.
William Congreve
No, I'm no enemy to learning it hurts not me.
William Congreve
There are times when sense may be unseasonable, as well as truth.
William Congreve
Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand
William Congreve
I know that’s a secret, for it’s whispered everywhere.
William Congreve
Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.
William Congreve
I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a monkey, without very mortifying reflections.
William Congreve
I came up stairs into the world, for I was born in a cellar.
William Congreve
Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days.
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
I nauseate walking 'tis a country diversion, I loathe the country.
William Congreve
Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
William Congreve
O fie, miss, you must not kiss and tell.
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
How hard a thing 'twould be to please you all.
William Congreve
