#shakes

I hate Shakespeare. I think Shakespeare's rubbish. ↗

— Allan Carr

#i #i think #rubbish #shakespeare #think

Jacobean plays, before Shakespeare, were particularly visceral. ↗

— Christopher Eccleston

#particularly #plays #shakespeare #visceral #were

Our job is to make manifest the story, to be it. In a sense, the theatre is such a big star itself, bigger than any Shakespearean actor I could hire, that we should take the opportunity to fill it with voice and verse and movement, not interpretation. ↗

— Mark Rylance

#any #big #big star #bigger #could

And you know, I hate to admit this, but I don't always think in terms of Shakespeare. When I eat, I do. When I'm at a restaurant, I'll think, 'Hmm, what would Macbeth have ordered?' ↗

— Liev Schreiber

#always #eat #hate #hmm #i

Only he shakes the heavens and from its treasures takes our the winds. He joins the waters and the clouds and produces the rain. He does all those things. Only he realizes miracles permanently. ↗

— Michael Servetus

#does #heavens #joins #miracles #only

I don't fool myself. I can't see myself doing Shakespeare. ↗

— Sharon Tate

#fool #i #myself #see #shakespeare

We probably read Shakespeare in the first place for his stories, afterwards for his characters. . . . To become intimate with Shakespeare in this way is a great enrichment of mind and instruction of conscience. Then, by degrees, as we go on reading this world-teacher, lines of insight and beauty take possession of us, and unconsciously mould our judgments of men and things and of the great issues of life. ↗

— Charlotte Mason

#beauty

Who knows himself a braggart, let him fear this, for it will come to pass that every braggart shall be found an ass. ↗

— William Shakespeare

#ass #braggart #bragging #humility #humor

And now, my poor old woman, why are you crying so bitterly? It is autumn. The leaves are falling from the trees like burning tears- the wind howls. Why must you mimic them? ↗

— Mervyn Peake

#copy #cry #crying #despair #fall

As an unperfect actor upon the stage Who with much fear is put besides his part Or some fierce thing, replete with too much rage Whose strengths abundance weakens his own heart So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love's rite And in mine own love's strength seem to decay O'ercharged with burthen of my own love's might o, let my books be then the eloquence And dumb presagers of my speaking breast Who plead for love, and look for recompense More than that tongue that more hath express'd. O, learn to read what silent love hath writ To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. ↗

— William Shakespeare

#sonnet #unperfect-actor #love