Every now and then, when you're on stage, you hear the best sound a player can hear. It's a sound you can't get in movies or in te...levision. It is the sound of a wonderful, deep silence that means you've hit them where they live.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Even the most incompetent English actor, coming on the stage briefly to announce the presence below of Lord and Lady Ditherege, gi...ves forth a sound so soft and dulcet as almost to be a bar of music. But sometimes that is all there is. The words are lost in the graceful sweep of the notes.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players.... They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, a soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank, and his big, manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange, eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day... To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Out, out, brief candle. Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player... That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
It's a damn shame we have this immediate ticking off in the mind about how people sound. On the other hand, how many people really... want to be operated upon by a surgeon who talks broad cockney?LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Go into the streets, into the slums, into the fashionable quarters. Go into the day courts and the night courts. Become acquainted... with sorrow, with many kinds of sorrow. Learn of the wonderful heroism of the poor, of the incredible generosity of the very poor--a generosity of which the rich and the well-to-do have, for the most part, not the faintest conception. Go into the modest homes, into the out-of-the-way corners, into the open country. Go where you can find something fresh to bring back to the stage.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Their rebukes have never made me angry, because I have always wondered why they did not rebuke me more. They should have. Their fr...iendly praise has been one of the sweetest, most warming things in my life in the theater. I do go on the stage unafraid of them and with love in my heart for them.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »