William Congreve
Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
He that first cries out stop thief, is often he that has stolen the treasure.
Defer not till tomorrow to be wise, tomorrow's sun to thee may never rise.
Music has charms to soothe the savage breastTo soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
I came upstairs into the world; for I was born in a cellar.
For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds,And though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
All ambitions are lawful except those which climb upward on the miseries or credulities of mankind.