William Congreve (24 January 1670 – 19 January 1729) was an English playwright and poet. Read full biography of William Congreve →
He who closes his ears to the views of others shows little confidence in the integrity of his own views.
If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.
If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.
Grief walks upon the heels of pleasure; married in haste, we repent at leisure.
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.
I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a monkey, without very mortifying reflections.
I know that's a secret, for it's whispered every where.
Invention flags, his brain goes muddy, and black despair succeeds brown study.
Wit must be foiled by wit: cut a diamond with a diamond.
To find a young fellow that is neither a wit in his own eye, nor a fool in the eye of the world, is a very hard task.
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... →
No, I'm no enemy to learning; it hurts not me.
'Tis well enough for a servant to be bred at an University. But the education is a little too pedantic for a gentleman.
William Congreve (24 January 1670 – 19 January 1729) was an English playwright and poet.