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I nauseate walking 'tis a country diversion, I loathe the country.

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
Country
Diversion
Loathe
Walking

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Honor is a public enemy, and conscience a domestic, and he that would secure his pleasure, must pay a tribute to one and go halves with t'other.
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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.
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Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
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Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.
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There are times when sense may be unseasonable, as well as truth.
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How hard a thing 'twould be to please you all.
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No, I'm no enemy to learning it hurts not me.
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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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Nothing but you can lay hold of my mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you.
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O fie, miss, you must not kiss and tell.
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O, she is the antidote to desire.
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To converse with Scandal is to play at Losing Loadum, you must lose a good name to him, before you can win it for yourself.
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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.
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Beauty is the lover's gift.
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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.
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A little scorn is alluring.
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Music alone with sudden charms can bind The wand'ring sense, and calm the troubled mind.
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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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Wit must be foiled by wit: cut a diamond with a diamond.
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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