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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
Ambition
Choice
Loss
Virtue
Choices
Darkens
Rather
Gain
Makes
Soldier
Gains
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My heart is ever at your service.
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Thou shalt be free As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of my command.
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Divers philosophers hold that the lips is parcel of the mouth.
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Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age?
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Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen! Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
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Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of myself, any by my friends I am abused so that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then, the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes.
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How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!
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Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.
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Vanity keeps persons in favor with themselves who are out of favor with all others.
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Be stirring as the time be fire with fire. Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow Of bragging horror. So shall inferior eyes, That borrow their behaviors from the great, Grow great by your example and put on The dauntless spirit of resolution.
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Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity In least speak most, to my capacity.
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The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.
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Pray, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
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What is past is prologue.
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Old fashions please me best I am not so nice To change true rules for odd inventions.
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Honesty is not the best policy - merely the safest
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The iron tongue of Midnight hath told twelve lovers, to bed 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall outstep the coming morn as much as we this night over-watch'd.
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Their lips were four red roses on a stalk.
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For now I stand as one upon a rock environed with a wilderness of sea, who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, expecting ever when some envious surge will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
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O how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes favors! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, that sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, more pangs and fears than wars or women have, and when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, never to hope again.
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