William Congreve
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Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
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Never go to bed angry, stay up and fight.
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Beauty is the lover's gift.
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There is in true beauty, as in courage, something which narrow souls cannot dare to admire.
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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.