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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
Diversion
Loathe
Walking
Country

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Women like flames have a destroying power never to be quenched till they themselves devour.
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I came up stairs into the world, for I was born in a cellar.
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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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Words are the weak support of cold indifference love has no language to be heard.
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A woman only obliges a man to secrecy, that she may have the pleasure of telling herself.
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Who pleases one against his will.
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Music alone with sudden charms can bind The wand'ring sense, and calm the troubled mind.
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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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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.
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Beauty is the lover's gift.
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He that first cries out stop thief, is often he that has stolen the treasure.
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No, I'm no enemy to learning it hurts not me.
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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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Would any thing but a madman complain of uncertainty? Uncertainty and expectation are joys of life security is an insipid thing and the overtaking and possessing of a wish discovers the folly of the chase.
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A hungry wolf at all the herd will run, In hopes, through many, to make sure of one.
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I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.
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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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Mr Witwould: Pray, madam, do you pin up your hair with all your letters? I find I must keep copies. Mrs Millamant: Only with those in verse.... I never pin up my hair with prose.
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O ay, letters - I had letters - I am persecuted with letters - I hate letters - nobody knows how to write letters and yet one has 'em, one does not know why - they serve one to pin up one's hair.
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Let us be very strange and well-bred:Let us be as strange as if we had been married a great whileAnd as well-bred as if we were not married at all.
William Congreve