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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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William Congreve
Age: 58 †
Born: 1670
Born: January 24
Died: 1729
Died: January 19
Engineer
Librettist
Playwright
Poet
Translator
Writer
Heaven
Poor
Help
Helping
Enough
Wit
Fool

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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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Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
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Marriage indeed may qualify the fury of his passion, but it very rarely mends a man's manners.
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Defer not till to-morrow to be wise, To-morrow's Sun to thee may never rise Or should to-morrow chance to cheer thy sight With her enlivening and unlook'd for light, How grateful will appear her dawning rays! As favours unexpected doubly please.
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I am always of the opinion with the learned, if they speak first.
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Some by experience find those words mis-placed: At leisure married, they repent in haste.
William Congreve
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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.
William Congreve
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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.
William Congreve
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Whoever is king, is also the father of his country.
William Congreve
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I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.
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If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.
William Congreve
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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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Beauty is the lover's gift.
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Who pleases one against his will.
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A little scorn is alluring.
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Women like flames have a destroying power never to be quenched till they themselves devour.
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Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.
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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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If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.
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