Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
William CongreveRead
But say what you will, 'tis better to be left than never to have been loved. To pass our youth in dull indifference, to refuse the sweets of life because they once must leave us, is as preposterous as to wish to have been born old, because we one day must be old.
Interpretation
What this quote means
It's better to experience love and loss than to never have loved at all.
This quote emphasizes the value of love and the experiences that come with it, suggesting that even though love can lead to pain and loss, it is preferable to pass one’s life without the richness that love provides. Congreve argues against living in fear of loss, advocating for embracing love's joys, even with the understanding that they are temporary.
Themes
LoveExperienceLossLifeYouth
In practice
Example use cases
A speaker at a wedding might use this quote to celebrate the beauty of love.
More from William Congreve
All quotes →She likes herself, yet others hates, For that which in herself she prizes; And while she laughs at them, forgets She is the thing that she despises.
William CongreveRead
Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand
William CongreveRead
Grief walks upon the heels of pleasure; married in haste, we repent at leisure.
William CongreveRead
There is in true beauty, as in courage, something which narrow souls cannot dare to admire.
William CongreveRead
Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing.
William CongreveRead
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They were renewed by love; the heart of each held infinite sources of life for the heart of the other.
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I am a Christian person, and I do love the Lord, and I feel no matter who you are, what you believe, how you live your life, it's not my place to judge. I don't have that power. I don't want that power. It's my place to love and to show God's love to other people, even if they don't live a life like I live.
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Busy old fool, unruly sun, Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains, call on us? Must to thy motions lovers'seasons run? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late schoolboys, and sour prentices, Go tell court-huntsmen that the King will ride, Call countryants to harvest offices; Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
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Perhaps this is how girls fall -- not in some crime of enchantment at the hands of a wicked ne'er-do-well, a grand before and after in which they are innocent victims who have no say in the matter. Perhaps they simply are kissed and want to kiss back. Perhaps they even kiss first. And why should they not?
Libba BrayRead