All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: Shakespeare: As You Like It. Age cannot wither her. Shakespeare: Antony and Cleopatra. Why grieve that Time has brought so soon As idly should I weep at noon To see the blush of morning gone. Bryant. An age that melts with unperceived decay, Dr. Johnson. 'Tis the sunset of life gives us mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. Campbell: Pleasures of Hope. Years following years, steal something every day; Pope. Of no distemper, of no blast he died, Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more, Stronger by weakness, wiser men become, Edmund Waller. -I left him in a green old age, And looking like the oak, worn, but still steady Fell fast around him. Byron: Werner. Yet time, who changes all, had altered him Byron: Childe Harold. What is the worst of woes that wait on age? Byron: Childe Harold. Age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, Longfellow: Morituri Salutamus. Ambition, Glory; see Fame and Power. The true ambition there alone resides, Wouldst thou be famed? have those high acts in Brave men would act, though scandal would ensue. Young: Love of Fame. The same ambition can destroy or save, And makes a patriot, as it makes a knave. Pope: Essay on Man. Fling away ambition; By that sin fell the angels: how can man then, "To reign is worth ambition, though in hell: Milton: Paradise Lost. Oh, sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise, Pope: Essay on Man. Dream after dream ensues, And still they dream that they shall still succeed, And still are disappointed. Cowper: Task. He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find Must look down on the hate of those below. Byron: Childe Harold. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Shakespeare: Macbeth. Men at some time are masters of their fates: Shakespeare: Julius Cæsar. Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife! Scott: Old Mortality. Ambition has but one reward for all: Anger; see Passion. William Winter: Queen's Domain. Rage is the shortest passion of our souls: Like narrow brooks, that rise with sudden show'rs, It swells in haste, and falls again as soon. Rowe: Fair Penitent. Anger is like A full-hot horse; who being allow'd his way, Shakespeare: Henry VIII. Never anger made good guard for itself. Shakespeare: Antony and Cleopatra. Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself, Shakespeare: Coriolanus. When anger rushes unrestrain'd to action, The man of thought strikes deepest, and strikes I would applaud thee to the very echo, Shakespeare: Macbeth. Such a noise arose As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, Shakespeare: Henry VIII. Oh popular applause! what heart of man Cowper: Task. |