What’s gone and what’s past help / Should be past grief.
Paulina
The Winter’s Tale (III,ii,223-224)
Posted 2 years ago
This day is call’d the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a’ tiptoe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian… .
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words…
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a’ tiptoe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian… .
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words…
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red.
King Henry
Henry the Fifth (IV,iii,40-55)
Posted 2 years ago
Fact
The Globe Theatre was burned down in 1613 when a canon was fired announcing the entrance of King Henry VIII, igniting the thatched roof. It was rebuilt soon but torn down again in 1644 in response to Puritan zealotry against theater performances.
Posted 2 years ago
Julius Caesar: "A Lean and Hungry Look" (I,ii,190-195)
- Caesar:
- Antonio!
- Marcus Antonius:
- Caesar?
- Caesar:
- Let me have men about me that are fat,
- Sleek-headed men and such as sleep a-nights.
- Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look,
- He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.
Posted 2 years ago
Featured Guest: John Donne
“Death Be Not Proud” (Holy Sonnet 10)
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones and soul’s delivery.
Thou’art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy’or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
~ John Donne
Posted 2 years ago
Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ‘em.
Malvolio
Twelfth Night (II,v,156-159)
Posted 2 years ago
Definitions in my Own Words (because I always used to get confused with these two)
Soliloquy: A speech given by a character when no other character is present onstage. Used in order to reveal to the audience the deepest, most innermost thoughts of the character.
Monologue: A speech given by a character when other characters are present onstage. The one giving the monologue may be addressing the other characters on stage, or he/she might simply be speaking to him/herself while the others are listening. This, too, is also used to reveal the inner thoughts of the character.
Posted 2 years ago
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.
Thou marshall’st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o’ the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still,
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
Which was not so before. There’s no such thing:
It is the bloody business which informs
Thus to mine eyes. Now o’er the one halfworld
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtain’d sleep; witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate’s offerings, and wither’d murder,
Alarum’d by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl’s his watch, thus with his stealthy pace.
With Tarquin’s ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives:
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.
Thou marshall’st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o’ the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still,
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
Which was not so before. There’s no such thing:
It is the bloody business which informs
Thus to mine eyes. Now o’er the one halfworld
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtain’d sleep; witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate’s offerings, and wither’d murder,
Alarum’d by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl’s his watch, thus with his stealthy pace.
With Tarquin’s ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives:
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
Macbeth (II,i,33-61)
![Kind of insulting to the Bard, but still kind of funny :]](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l690wuWFIB1qc7llgo1_500.jpg)
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