The world is a stage, but the play is badly cast.
— What happens at the finish?
— Then we have ourselves a rowdy dow! Ain't you never been to a theatre before?
We only have so much to give, don’t we? And up there I’m not myself, or perhaps more correctly I’m a succession of selves. We must all be a profound mixture of selves, don’t you think? To me, acting is first and foremost intellect, and only after that, emotion. The one liberates the other, and polishes it. There’s so much more to it than simply crying or screaming or producing a convincing laugh. It’s wonderful, you know. Thinking myself into another self, someone I might have been, had the circumstances been there. That’s the secret. Not becoming someone else, but incorporating the role into me as if she was myself. And so she becomes me.
The holidays are an obligatory performance where families buy each other gifts and pretend everything is perfect.
If two people talk and the third listens to their conversation — it is a theater.