Thus in this sad, but oh, too pleasing state! my soul can fix upon nothing but thee; thee it contemplates, admires, adores, nay depends on, trusts on you alone.
William CongreveNothing but you can lay hold of my mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you.
William CongreveYou'll grow devilish fat upon this paper-diet!
William CongreveTags: books
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