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Men are apt to offend ('tis true) where they find most goodness to forgive.
William Congreve
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William Congreve
Age: 58 †
Born: 1670
Born: January 24
Died: 1729
Died: January 19
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Offend
Forgive
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Men
More quotes by William Congreve
Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand
William Congreve
Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.
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There is nothing more unbecoming a man of quality than to laugh ... 'tis such a vulgar expression of the passion!
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Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.
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It is the business of a comic poet to paint the vices and follies of human kind.
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Courtship is to marriage, as a very witty prologue to a very dull play.
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Come, come, leave business to idlers, and wisdom to fools: they have need of 'em: wit be my faculty, and pleasure my occupation, and let father Time shake his glass.
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There is in true Beauty, as in Courage, somewhat which narrow Souls cannot dare to admire.
William Congreve
Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days.
William Congreve
All well bred persons lie - Besides, you are a woman you must never speak what you think.
William Congreve
I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a monkey, without very mortifying reflections.
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There are times when sense may be unseasonable, as well as truth.
William Congreve
He that first cries out stop thief, is often he that has stolen the treasure.
William Congreve
Though marriage makes man and wife one flesh, it leaves 'em still two fools.
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There are come Critics so with Spleen diseased, They scarcely come inclining to be pleased: And sure he must have more than mortal Skill, Who please one against his Will.
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'Tis well enough for a servant to be bred at an University. But the education is a little too pedantic for a gentleman.
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Love's but a frailty of the mind, When 'tis not with ambition joined.
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These articles subscribed, if I continue to endure you a little longer, I may by degrees dwindle into wife.
William Congreve
Beauty is the lover's gift.
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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