The dramatic works of Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Farquhar: With biographical and critical notices (Google eBook)

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Edward Moxon, 1840 - 668 pages
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Page 229 - Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing, and the overtaking and possessing of a wish discovers the folly of the chase. Never let us know one another better, for the pleasure of a masquerade is done when we come to show our faces...
Page 181 - May be it is no sin to them that don't think it so; indeed, if I did not think it a sin but still my honour, if it were no sin. But then, to marry my daughter, for the conveniency of frequent opportunities, I'll never consent to that ; as sure as can be I'll break the match.
Page 260 - till of late; I confess I am not one of those coxcombs who are apt to interpret a woman's good manners to her prejudice; and think that she who does not refuse 'em everything, can refuse 'em nothing.
Page 279 - Now, Petulant, all's over, all's well. Gad, my head begins to whim it about why dost thou not speak ? thou art both as drunk and as mute as a fish. Pet. Look you, Mrs. Millamant if you can love me, dear nymph say it and that's the conclusion pass on, or pass off that's all. Wit. Thou hast uttered volumes, folios, in less than decimo sexto, my dear Lacedemonian.
Page lxxxiv - It is altogether a speculative scene of things, which has no reference whatever to the world that is.
Page 261 - And for a discerning man somewhat too passionate a lover, for I like her with all her faults; nay, like her for her faults. Her follies are so natural, or so artful, that they become her, and those affectations which in another woman would be odious serve but to make her more agreeable.
Page 261 - em, and got 'em by rote. The Catalogue was so large, that I was not without hopes, one Day or other to hate her heartily : To which end I so...
Page 285 - I confess it had a face of guiltiness, it was at most an artifice which love contrived; and errors which love produces have ever been accounted venial. At least think it is punishment enough, that I have lost what in my heart I hold most dear, that to your cruel indignation I have offered up this beauty, and with her my peace and quiet; nay, all my hopes of future comfort.
Page 241 - And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice; Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear Thy voice my own affrights me with its echoes.
Page lxxxiv - Touchwoods, in their own sphere, do not offend my moral sense ; in fact they do not appeal to it at all. They seem engaged in their proper element. They break through no laws, or conscientious restraints. They know of none. They have got out of Christendom into the land - what shall I call it? - of cuckoldry - the Utopia of gallantry, where pleasure is duty, and the manners perfect freedom.

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