acting

Sigmund Freud said we act out our own dreams, but if you are only an actor you are not acting out your own dream. You are simply participating in someone else's dream.

I was always a closet lover of acting. My mom was very practical. She never, ever restricted our dreams, always told us we could do or be anything. Then I said, 'Maybe I want to be an actor'. And she said, 'Maybe not that'.

Acting is also working with people who invite you into their dreams and trust you with their innermost being.

More than in any other performing arts the lack of respect for acting seems to spring from the fact that every layman considers himself a valid critic.

My attitude goes back to my childhood. I used to audition for theatrical roles, and you can't stand out in a room full of ambitious eight-year-old girls by acting the wallflower. I realised then that I couldn't do things half-heartedly.

Acting is magical. Change your look and your attitude, and you can be anyone.

Your boss takes a dim view of SEX?

Anything creative requires a bit of acting,and filling in blanks with imagination.

That's what I love most about writers--they're such lousy actors.

Actors are all about entrances, but writers are all about exits.

I don't get it. I just don't get it. If Art is supposed to imitate Life, why do they want all the actors to be thin? There are fat people in the world. Shouldn't there be a few of us actors to represent them?

And enigmatic smile is worth ten pages of dialog.

All the world's a stage,And all the men and women merely players;They have their exits and their entrances,And one man in his time plays many parts,His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchelAnd shining morning face, creeping like snailUnwillingly to school. And then the lover,Sighing like furnace, with a woeful balladMade to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,Seeking the bubble reputationEven in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,In fair round belly with good capon lined,With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,Full of wise saws and modern instances;And so he plays his part. The sixth age shiftsInto the lean and slippered pantaloon,With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wideFor his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,Turning again toward childish treble, pipesAnd whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,That ends this strange eventful history,Is second childishness and mere oblivion,Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

No passion so effectually robs the mind of all its powers of acting and reasoning as fear.

A play visibly represents pure existing.

A walking shadow a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.

An agent is a guy who is sore because an actor gets 90% of what he makes.

With the collapse of vaudeville new talent has no place to stink.