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Ambition, the soldier's virtue.
William Shakespeare
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William Shakespeare
Age: 51 †
Born: 1564
Born: April 26
Died: 1616
Died: April 23
Actor
Dramaturge
Playwright
Poet
Stage Actor
Writer
Stratford-upon-Avon
Warwickshire
Shakespeare
The Bard
The Bard of Avon
William Shakspere
Swan of Avon
Bard of Avon
Shakespere
Shakespear
Shakspeare
Shackspeare
William Shake‐ſpeare
Soldier
Ambition
Military
Virtue
More quotes by William Shakespeare
And Caesar shall go forth.
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The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.
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Well, God's above all and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.
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Fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger.
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I doubt not then but innocence shall makeFalse accusation blush, and tyrannyTremble at patience.
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Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man Still to remember wrongs?
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Thou art the Mars of malcontents.
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Foul whisp'rings are abroad.
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See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath! He that but fears the thing he would not know, Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes, That what he feared is chanced.
William Shakespeare
The sudden hand of Death close up mine eye!
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Rashly, And praised be rashness for it--let us know, Our indiscretion sometime serves us well When our deep plots do pall, and that should learn us There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will
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An old black ram is tupping your white ewe
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Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts?
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Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed King.
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There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murder in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.
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O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee, 1710. That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
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I hope to see London once ere I die.
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I never yet did hear, That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear
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Death makes no conquest of this conqueror: For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
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Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible.
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