Quotes by William Congreve
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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.
He who closes his ears to the views of others shows little confidence in the integrity of his own views.
Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
You are a woman: you must never speak what you think; your words must contradict your thoughts, but your actions may contradict your words.
They are at the end of the gallery; retired to their tea and scandal, according to their ancient custom.
Fear comes from uncertainty. When we are absolutely certain, whether of our worth or worthlessness, we are almost impervious to fear.
A wit should be no more sincere than a woman constant.
If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.
I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a monkey, without very mortifying reflections.
Say what you will, 'tis better to be left than never to have been loved.
Beauty is the lover's gift.
If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.
Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing.
They come together like the Coroner's Inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week.
A little disdain is not amiss; a little scorn is alluring.
Courtship is to marriage, as a very witty prologue to a very dull play.
No, I'm no enemy to learning; it hurts not me.
Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
I know that's a secret, for it's whispered every where.
Never go to bed angry, stay up and fight.
I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.
Wit must be foiled by wit: cut a diamond with a diamond.
There is in true beauty, as in courage, something which narrow souls cannot dare to admire.
Grief walks upon the heels of pleasure; married in haste, we repent at leisure.
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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