Acting is about giving something away, handing yourself over to whatever role you are asked to play. I'm not hiding or escaping or seeking anonymity. I reserve the right not to have a rubber stamp on my forehead saying this is who I am. Because who I am gets in the way of people looking innocently at the parts I play.
You May Also Like / View all maxioms
Prologues precede the piece in mournful verse,
As undertakers walk before the hearse.
Prologues precede the piece in mournful verse,
As undertakers walk before the hearse.
Acting is a question of absorbing other people's personalities and adding some of your own experience.
Acting is a question of absorbing other people's personalities and adding some of your own experience.
As good as a play.
As good as a play.
Acting is not being emotional, but being able to express emotion.
Acting is not being emotional, but being able to express emotion.
There still remains to mortify a wit
The many-headed monster of the pit.
There still remains to mortify a wit
The many-headed monster of the pit.
This is the Jew that Shakespeare drew.
This is the Jew that Shakespeare drew.
Acting is a nice childish profession - pretending you're someone else and, at the same time, selling yourself.
Acting is a nice childish profession - pretending you're someone else and, at the same time, selling yourself.
Your scene precariously subsists too long,
On French translation and Italian song.
Dare to have sense yourselves; read more
Your scene precariously subsists too long,
On French translation and Italian song.
Dare to have sense yourselves; assert the stage;
Be justly warm'd with your own native rage.
Like hungry guests, a sitting audience looks;
Plays are like suppers; poets are the cooks.
The founder's read more
Like hungry guests, a sitting audience looks;
Plays are like suppers; poets are the cooks.
The founder's you: the table is the place:
The carvers we: the prologue is the grace.
Each act, a course, each scene, a different dish,
Though we're in Lent, I doubt you're still for flesh.
Satire's the sauce, high-season'd, sharp and rough.
Kind masks and beaux, I hope you're pepperproof?
Wit is the wine; but 'tis so scarce the true
Poets, like vintners, balderdash and brew.
Your surly scenes, where rant and bloodshed join.
Are butcher's meat, a battle's sirloin:
Your scenes of love, so flowing, soft and chaste,
Are water-gruel without salt or taste.
