105 ordspråk av William Congreve

William Congreve

William Congreve

William Congreve föddes den 10 februar 1670 och dog den 19 januar 1729 - engelsk dramatiker.
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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

Defer not till to-morrow to be wise, To-morrow's sun to thee may never rise

If I have not fretted myself till I am pale again, there's no veracity in me.

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

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.

I could find it in my heart to marry thee, purely to be rid of thee.

'Tis well enough for a servant to be bred at an university: but the education is a little too pedantic for a gentleman.

Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds

Välsingnelse

He that first cries out stop thief, is often he that has stolen the treasure.

You are all camphire and frankincense, all chastity and odour.

Thou liar of the first magnitude.

Well, Sir Joseph, you have such a winning way with you.

O the pious friendships of the female sex!

Is he then dead? / What, dead at last, quite, quite for ever dead!

The good received, the giver is forgot.

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