"I hate theatre. Well, it's so disappointing, isn't it? You know what I do when I'm sitting in a darkened theatre
waiting for the show to begin? I pray. Oh, dear God, please let it be a good show. And let it be short, oh Lord in
heaven, please. Two hours is fine, three hours is too much. And keep the actors out of the audience. God. I
didn't pay good money to have the fourth wall come crashing down around my ears. I just want a story, and a
few good songs that will take me away. I just want to be entertained. I mean, isn't that the point? Amen."
- Man in Chair (The Drowsy Chaperone)

- -

"She raised one hand and flexed its fingers and wondered, as she had sometimes before, how this thing, this machine for gripping, this fleshy spider on the end of her arm, came to be hers, entirely at her command. Or did it have some little life of its own? She bent her finger and straightened it. The mystery was in the instant before it moved, the dividing moment between not moving and moving, when her intention took effect. It was like a wave breaking. If she could only find herself at the crest, she thought, she might find the secret of herself, that part of her that was really in charge."
- Ian McEwan (Atonement)

- -

Ballade of Dead Actors
Where are the passions they essayed,
And where the tears they made to flow?
Where the wild humours they portrayed
For laughing worlds to see and know?
Othello's wrath and Juliet's woe?
Sir Peter's whims and Timon's gall?
And Millamant and Romeo?
Into the night go one and all.
Where are the braveries, fresh or frayed?
The plumes, the armours -- friend and foe?
The cloth of gold, the rare brocade,
The mantles glittering to and fro?
The pomp, the pride, the royal show?
The cries of war and festival?
The youth, the grace, the charm, the glow?
Into the night go one and all.
The curtain falls, the play is played:
The Beggar packs beside the Beau;
The Monarch troops, and troops the Maid;
The Thunder huddles with the Snow.
Where are the revellers high and low?
The clashing swords? The lover's call?
The dancers gleaming row on row?
Into the night go one and all.
- William Ernest Henley