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If happiness in self-content is placed, The wise are wretched, and fools only blessed.

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
Fool
Wise
Happiness
Complacency
Self
Wretched
Placed
Fools
Content
Blessed

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Thou art a retailer of phrases, and dost deal in remnants of remnants.
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Whoever is king, is also the father of his country.
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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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They come together like the Coroner's Inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week.
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There is in true Beauty, as in Courage, somewhat which narrow Souls cannot dare to admire.
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No mask like open truth to cover lies, As to go naked is the best disguise.
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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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In my conscience I believe the baggage loves me, for she never speaks well of me herself, nor suffers any body else to rail at me.
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Though marriage makes man and wife one flesh, it leaves 'em still two fools.
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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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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.
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A wit should no more be sincere, than a woman constant one argues a decay of parts, as to other of beauty.
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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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Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
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Music alone with sudden charms can bind The wand'ring sense, and calm the troubled mind.
William Congreve
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A little scorn is alluring.
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I know that’s a secret, for it’s whispered everywhere.
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These articles subscribed, if I continue to endure you a little longer, I may by degrees dwindle into wife.
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He that first cries out stop thief, is often he that has stolen the treasure.
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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.
William Congreve