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 Congreve

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Nothing but you can lay hold of my mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you.

William Congreve

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You'll grow devilish fat upon this paper-diet!

William Congreve

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