Strong reasons make strong actions.
I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.
Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you-trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and as I may say, the whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness.
All the world's a stage, and all the men and women mearly players.
Suit the action to the word : the word to the action : with this special observance that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature.
With this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature. for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature.
Oh! it offends me to the soul to hear a robust periwig-pated fellow, tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings.
All the world's a stage.
The Play's the Thing, wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?
Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma or a hideous dream.
I can counterfeit the deep tragedian; Speak and look back, and pry on every side, Tremble and start, at wagging of a straw, Intending deep suspicion.
Let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them.
The king-becoming graces, As justice, verity, temp'rance, stableness, Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, I have no relish of them, but abound In the division of each several crime, Acting in many ways.
If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue.
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts.
Like a dull actor now, I have forgot my part, and I am out, Even to a full disgrace.
How strange or odd some'er I bear myself, As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on.
The play's the thing.
A great while ago the world begun, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain; But that's all one, our play is done, And we'll strive to please you every day.
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