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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
Engineer
Librettist
Playwright
Poet
Translator
Writer
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Men
Offend
Forgive
Forgiving
Goodness
True

More quotes by William Congreve

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I know a lady that loves to talk so incessantly, she won't give an echo fair play she has that everlasting rotation of tongue that an echo must wait till she dies before it can catch her last words!
William Congreve
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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
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Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
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O fie, miss, you must not kiss and tell.
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Fear comes from uncertainty. When we are absolutely certain, whether of our worth or worthlessness, we are almost impervious to fear.
William Congreve
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Wit must be foiled by wit: cut a diamond with a diamond.
William Congreve
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If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.
William Congreve
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Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast...
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A hungry wolf at all the herd will run, In hopes, through many, to make sure of one.
William Congreve
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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.
William Congreve
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O, nothing is more alluring than a levee from a couch in some confusion.
William Congreve
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They come together like the Coroner's Inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week.
William Congreve
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Guilt is ever at a loss, and confusion waits upon it when innocence and bold truth are always ready for expression.
William Congreve
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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?
William Congreve
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I am a fool, I know it and yet, Heaven help me, I'm poor enough to be a wit.
William Congreve
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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.
William Congreve
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I came up stairs into the world, for I was born in a cellar.
William Congreve
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Delay not till tomorrow to be wise tomorrow's sun to thee may neve rise.
William Congreve
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O, she is the antidote to desire.
William Congreve
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It is the business of a comic poet to paint the vices and follies of human kind.
William Congreve