Date: 1700

"In what figure shall I give his Heart the first Impression? There is a great deal in the first impression."

— Congreve, William (1670-1729)

Date: 1700

"To think of a Whirlwind, tho' 'twere in a Whirlwind, were a Case of more steady Contemplation; a very tranquility of Mind and Mansion."

— Congreve, William (1670-1729)

Date: 1700

"A Fellow that lives in a Windmill, has not a more whimsical Dwelling than the Heart of a Man that is lodg'd in a Woman."

— Congreve, William (1670-1729)

Date: 1700

"When I did not see him I cou'd have brib'd a Villain to his Assassination; but his appearance rakes the Embers which have so long layn smother'd in my Breast."

— Congreve, William (1670-1729)

Date: December 13, 1700; 1701

"I ne'er saw any yet so fair! such Sweetness in her Look! such Modesty! if we may think the Eye the window to the Heart, she has a thousand treasur'd Virtues there."

— Cibber, Colley (1671-1757)

Date: 1701

"For I will here suppose the Soul, or Mind of Man, to be at first, rasa Tabula, like fair paper, that hath no connate Character or Idea's imprinted upon it (as that Learned Theorist Mr. Lock hath, I suppose, fully proved) and that it is not sensible of any thing at its coming...

— Cumberland, Richard (1632-1718)

Date: 1702

"But then reflecting that I might possibly o'er-hear some part of their Discourse, and by that judge of Leonora's Thoughts, I rein'd my Passion in; and by the help of an advancing Buttress, which kept me from their sight, I learnt the black Conspiracy."

— Vanbrugh, Sir John (1664-1726)

Date: 1702

"Nay, yet more, / My Soul seems pleas'd to take acquaintance with thee, / As if ally'd to thine: Perhaps 'tis Sympathy / Of honest Minds; Like Strings wound up in Musick, / Where by one touch, both utter the same Harmony."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1702

"Witness the Blood / Which thro' successive Hero's Veins ally'd / To our Greek Emperors, roll'd down to me, / Feeds the bright Flame of Glory in my Heart."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1702

"When, as my Soul confest its Flame, and su'd / In moving Sounds for Pity, she frown'd rarely, / But, blushing, heard me tell the gentle Tale."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)