William Congreve (24 January 1670 – 19 January 1729) was an English playwright and poet. Read full biography of William Congreve →
Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing.
Fear comes from uncertainty. When we are absolutely certain, whether of our worth or worthlessness, we are almost impervious to fear.
Beauty is the lover's gift.
A hungry wolf at all the herd will run, In hopes, through many, to make sure of one.
Say what you will, 'tis better to be left than never to have been loved.
There is in true beauty, as in courage, something which narrow souls cannot dare to admire.
You are a woman: you must never speak what you think; your words must contradict your thoughts, but your actions may contradict your words.
A little disdain is not amiss; a little scorn is alluring.
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.
Never go to bed angry, stay up and fight.
Courtship is to marriage, as a very witty prologue to a very dull play.
William Congreve (24 January 1670 – 19 January 1729) was an English playwright and poet.