Theatre Quote Novels & Stories

Cressida stood at center stage and her face was pale and her hands were still and her eyes were steady. "I am not a witch," she said for the last time. "And no amount of fire will make me confess to something I have not done." The lights went down and the smoke cleared and the theater was quiet. The audience rose and the applause was loud and the cheers were bright. I stood and clapped and my hands were loud and my chest was full. The curtains closed and the actors dispersed and the theater emptied. I walked to the dressing room and the door was open and the lights were bright.

"Yeah, it’s a matter of talent, desire, taste, and practice," I added. "I know theater actors who, before getting there, suffered from terrible stage fright. And now they’re the best in the field. Some even work in film. Theater led them to the Seventh Art." He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but his gaze shifted slightly, his mental gears turning. "Do you know famous people?" he asked. I burst out laughing—his tone was… sweet.

His shoulders shaking silently as most of the concentration was on his facial expressions. The need to ask why was forgotten, given the fact that he knew enough about theatre to not need to know why Oscar specifically loved theatre. Everything about it was wonderful, the lights, the sounds, the music, the way that each individual from the customers to the lead had a role oh so important. Every combination of wonderful people joining together to form a show that could only be admired. Bo didn’t need to ask why Oscar enjoyed the theatre, because the reasons were the same for him. “I can understand why you love it.” Bo spoke with the smallest of smiles, his thoughts overrun with memories of a t

I grabbed Arthur’s arm. I had to wait a moment until some of the catering staff went back to the kitchen. My palm tingled with how good it felt, resting on top of the soft material of Arthur’s expensive suit jacket. When there was no staff close by, I said. “I don’t get it. How did you manage that so smoothly?” “I’m great with people. I have amazing acting skills,” Arthur said. “Oh?” Arthur continued solemnly. “You know what Shakespeare said, ‘All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players’.”

“Yes, Tessa?” “But the play is a tragedy. They both die.” Someone chuckles, maybe Ben. “What’s lovely about it?” Miss Jota shrugs. “Nothing. But life itself is a tragedy.” Ben snickers. I narrow my eyes and he throws his hands up in surrender. “Any other questions?” Her eyes roam over everyone in the room, we shake our heads. “In that case...” She is about to walk off the stage when she pauses and facepalms. “I almost forgot.” From her pocket, she pulls out a crumpled flier. The prints are hard to read from here. “Has anyone here heard of SAS?”

A Note in the Dark ~~SERAPHINA~~ A high note rings out through the dark theater. The note holds so long that the air starts to burn in my lungs as I forget to breathe. When it breaks, the scene falls into darkness, and heavy curtains billow out to embrace the stage. Golden light and warm applause fill the theater of the Civic Opera House. I wince. Reality is brighter than I remember. The intermission bell chimes overhead, and a feminine voice piped through a speaker announces a twenty-minute break. As I blink the real world into focus, the crowd around me shuffles and stands, voices rising and seats creaking.

Danny asked. "Theatre," Net replied with a small, dry smirk. "People don't fear a man who looks like he can't find his own car keys. It makes them talk. It makes them careless. That’s how I found out Ote was dirty. He thought I was just another desk-jockey who couldn't see past a spreadsheet."

"Now, we can afford to replace all those broken stage lights." Aaron narrows his eyes and purses his lips in a mix of disappointment and frustration. Ms. Parker chuckles, seemingly amused by his reaction. "Don't look so disappointed, Aaron," she says, patting his cheek gently. "The theater is a business, and without money, we would crumble. People like Charlotte Bradshaw are always welcome."

His familiar features were softened by a warm smile that hinted at both charm and experience. There was no trace of the Dominant who could make her beg for respite after whipping her sore, she thought with a dimpled sideways look, and he raised a brow questioningly. Bianca shook her head and they walked inside. * The night air had that early-autumn chill that made people lean into each other for warmth. A line of amber lights traced the theatre’s old brick façade, flickering softly above the marquee that read: "Tonight: The Glass Menagerie — A New Staging by Blanche Eastwood"

he greeted her with a warm smile. "Professor Marcus, thank you so much for receiving me," she replied, feeling nervous. "Daniel, good to see you again." "Thank you, Marcus, likewise." "Well... I suppose this isn't your first visit to my theater?" Marcus inquired, his eyes curious. "Oh, no! I attended a performance a few years ago." "Which one did you come to see?" "Tosca." "Ah! One of my favorites..." he exclaimed with passion. "Well, would you like to see behind the scenes?"