There is little choice in a barrel of rotten apples.
Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward, But then woos best when most his choice is froward.
There's small choice in rotten apples.
A sympathy in choice.
Thou art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most lov'd, despis'd! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon.
Tis often seen Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign lands.
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, Nor age so eat up my invention, Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, But they shall find awaked in such a kind Both strength of limb and policy of mind, Ability in means, and choice of friends, To quit me of them throughly.
The choices we make, dictate the lives we lead
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice And could of men distinguish her election, Sh'ath sealed thee for herself.
And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd
Come, and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow.
Ambition, the soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss, than gain which darkens him.