The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.
Ambition, the soldier's virtue.
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side
But 'tis common proof, that lowliness is young ambition's ladder, whereto the climber-upward turns his face; but when he once attains the upmost round, he then turns his back, looks in the clouds, scorning the vase defrees by which he did ascend.
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man.
As he was valiant, I honour him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him.
Dreams, indeed, are ambition; for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream. And I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is but a shadow's shadow.
Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition
Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! Farewell the plumed troops, and the big wars That make ambition virtue.
Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win.
Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life's means!
Pride went before, ambition follows him.
Ambition's debt is paid.
Love and meekness, lord, Become a churchman better than ambition: Win straying souls with modesty again, Cast none away.
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars That make ambition virtue! O, farewell! Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, th' ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
Who soars too near the sun, with golden wings, melts them.
Flesh and blood, You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, Expell'd remorse and nature, who, with Sebastian- Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong- Would here have kill'd your king, I do forgive thee, Unnatural though thou art.
Ambition, the soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss, than gain which darkens him.
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