Quote

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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William Congreve
Age: 58 †
Born: 1670
Born: January 24
Died: 1729
Died: January 19
Engineer
Librettist
Playwright
Poet
Translator
Writer
Lasts
Fairs
Rotation
Last
Tongue
Incessantly
Words
Fair
Echo
Give
Loves
Echoes
Play
Wait
Everlasting
Must
Waiting
Lady
Giving
Talk
Catch
Dies
Till

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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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Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.
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A little scorn is alluring.
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If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.
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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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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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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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Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
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Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
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I hope you do not think me prone to any iteration of nuptials.
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Beauty is the lover's gift.
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Thou art a retailer of phrases, and dost deal in remnants of remnants.
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Some by experience find those words mis-placed: At leisure married, they repent in haste.
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O, nothing is more alluring than a levee from a couch in some confusion.
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There are times when sense may be unseasonable, as well as truth.
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But say what you will, 'tis better to be left than never to have been loved. To pass our youth in dull indifference, to refuse the sweets of life because they once must leave us, is as preposterous as to wish to have been born old, because we one day must be old.
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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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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.
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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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