The love of many people around the world and the love of adoring fans does not always assuage the pain and loneliness felt by actors, actresses and other people who live very public lives. The love of many adoring fans is far from the same as the love of people who really know you, people you really know and live your day to day lives with. I have not been clear on how so many people seem to think that they know the personal lives of public figures when what they really know is what is publicly portrayed. As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII All the worlds 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 nurses arms. Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made 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 reputation Even in the cannons 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 shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And 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. - See more at: allpoetry/All-The-World%27s-A-Stage#sthash.S3OucVRh.dpuf
Posted on: Tue, 12 Aug 2014 00:44:08 +0000
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