William Congreve
William Congreve
William Congrevewas an English playwright and poet...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPlaywright
Date of Birth24 January 1670
becomes best picture sort tenderness
Yes, but tenderness becomes me best - a sort of dyingness - you see that picture has a sort of a - ha, Foible? A swimmingness in the eyes.
against critics mortal please scarcely sure
There are come Critics so with Spleen diseased,They scarcely come inclining to be pleased:And sure he must have more than mortal Skill,Who please one against his Will.
great married strange
Let us be very strange and well-bred: Let us be as strange as if we had been married a great while; and as well-bred as if we were not married at all.
free hopes sinner win
Wou'd I were free from this restraint, Or else had hopes to win her; Wou'd she cou'd make me a saint, Or I of her a sinner
pale till veracity
If I have not fretted myself till I am pale again, there's no veracity in me.
bliss grateful hours oft present though
In hours of bliss we oft have met: They could not always last; And though the present I regret, I'm grateful for the past.
bliss grateful hours oft present though
In hours of bliss we oft have met:They could not always last;And though the present I regret,I'm grateful for the past.
bred education pedantic servant tis
Tis well enough for a servant to be bred at an university: but the education is a little too pedantic for a gentleman.
discovers expectation folly insipid joys security wish
Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing, through the overtaking and possessing of a wish discovers the folly of the chase.
honesty thieves treasure
He that first cries out stop thief, is often he that has stolen the treasure.
fellows
Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days.
theatre please hard
How hard a thing 'twould be to please you all.
father glasses idlers
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.
ill impudence malice manners pass
Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fitThat impudence and malice pass for wit.