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Ambition, the soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss, than gain which darkens him.
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
Loss
Virtue
Choices
Darkens
Rather
Gain
Makes
Soldier
Gains
Ambition
Choice
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
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Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
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Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.
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Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.
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Show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
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What should we speak of When we are old as you? when we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December? how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away?
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Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech.
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Blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please.
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Speak low, if you speak love.
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Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash ’tis something, nothing ’twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.
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Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
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I have lived long enough. My way of life is to fall into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.
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I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here, Pierced to the soul with slander's venomed spear.
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We are such stuff that dreams are made of.
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A kind Of excellent dumb discourse.
William Shakespeare
You Jig, you amble, and you lisp.
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Having my freedom, boast of nothing else.
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The love of wicked men converts to fear That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both To worthy danger and deserved death.
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This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet
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