Rather than be less
Cared not to be at all.
Paradise Lost, Bk.  II.  MILTON.

Lowliness is young ambition’s ladder,
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face;
But when he once attains the upmost round,
He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
By which he did ascend.
Julius Caesar, Act ii.  Sc. 1.  SHAKESPEARE.

I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent; but only
Vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself,
And falls on the other.
Macbeth, Act i.  Sc. 7.  SHAKESPEARE.

  But wild ambition loves to slide, not stand,
  And Fortune’s ice prefers to Virtue’s land.
Absalom and Achitophel, Pt.  I.  J. DRYDEN.

  Ambition’s monstrous stomach does increase
  By eating, and it fears to starve unless
  It still may feed, and all it sees devour.
Playhouse to Let.  SIR W. DAVENANT.

  But see how oft ambition’s aims are crossed,
  And chiefs contend ’til all the prize is lost!
Rape of the Lock, Canto V.  A. POPE.

  O, sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise,
  By mountains piled on mountains to the skies? 
  Heaven still with laughter the vain toil surveys,
  And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.
Essay on Man, Epistle IV.  A. POPE.

  The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow
   of a dream.
Hamlet, Act ii.  Sc. 2.  SHAKESPEARE.

  Why then doth flesh, a bubble-glass of breath,
    Hunt after honour and advancement vain,
  And rear a trophy for devouring death?
Ruins of Time.  E. SPENSER.

  Oh, sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise
  By mountains piled on mountains to the skies? 
  Heaven still with laughter the vain toil surveys,
  And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.
Essay on Man.  A. POPE.

ANGEL.

  In this dim world of clouding cares,
    We rarely know, till ’wildered eyes
    See white wings lessening up the skies,
  The Angels with us unawares.
Ballad of Babe Christabel.  G. MASSEY.

  Around our pillows golden ladders rise,
    And up and down the skies,
    With winged sandals shod,
  The angels come, and go, the Messengers of God! 
  Nor, though they fade from us, do they depart—­
  It is the childly heart: 
  We walk as heretofore,
  Adown their shining ranks, but see them nevermore.
Hymn to the Beautiful.  R.H.  STODDARD.

                    For God will deign
  To visit oft the dwellings of just men
  Delighted, and with frequent intercourse
  Thither will send his winged messengers
  On errands of supernal grace.
Paradise Lost, Bk.  VII.  MILTON.

  But sad as angels for the good man’s sin,
  Weep to record, and blush to give it in.
The Pleasures of Hope, Pt.  II.  T. CAMPBELL.