William Congreve

Music has charms to soothe the savage breast
To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.

Defer not till tomorrow to be wise, tomorrow's sun to thee may never rise.

For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds,
And though a late, a sure reward succeeds.

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.

All ambitions are lawful except those which climb upward on the miseries or credulities of mankind.

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

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

Heav'n hath no rage like love to hatred turn'd, Nor Hell a fury, like a woman scorn'd.