William Congreve Quotes

76 Sourced Quotes

I came upstairs into the world; for I was born in a cellar.

William Congreve
I hope you do not think me prone to any iteration of nuptials.

William Congreve
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.

William Congreve
Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast,
To soften Rocks, or bend a knotted Oak.
I've read, that things inanimate have mov'd,
And, as with living Souls, have been inform'd,
By Magick Numbers and persuasive Sound.
What then am I? Am I more senseless grown
Than Trees, or Flint? O force of constant Woe!
'Tis not in Harmony to calm my Griefs.
Anselmo sleeps, and is at Peace; last Night
The silent Tomb receiv'd the good Old King;
He and his Sorrows now are safely lodg'd
Within its cold, but hospitable Bosom.
Why am not I at Peace?

William Congreve
Men are apt to offend ('tis true) where they find most goodness to forgive.

William Congreve
A branch of one of your antediluvian families, fellows that the flood could not wash away.

William Congreve
Music has charms to soothe a savage breast,
To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.

William Congreve
Courtship to marriage, as a very witty prologue to a very dull play.

William Congreve
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.

William Congreve
I am always of the opinion with the learned, if they speak first.

William Congreve
I nauseate walking; 'tis a country diversion, I loathe the country.

William Congreve
Witwoud: Madam, do you pin up your hair with all your letters?
Millamant: Only with those in verse, Mr. Witwoud. I never pin up my hair with prose.

William Congreve
A little disdain is not amiss; a little scorn is alluring.

William Congreve
These articles subscribed, if I continue to endure you a little longer, I may by degrees dwindle into a wife.

William Congreve
Man was by Nature Woman's cully made:
We never are, but by ourselves, betrayed.

William Congreve
Would I were free from this restraint,
Or else had hopes to win her;
Would she could make of me a saint,
Or I of her a sinner.

William Congreve