Character: Oliver Marks

You were real. Sometimes it seemed to me that, apart from you, there was nothing real in the world at all.

We turned out to be soft and pliable like clay, and confusion blinded us into a masterpiece.

We were so many. Friends, brothers, accomplices. James turned out to be who I always desperately wanted to be ... Talented, smart, socialite. The only child in a family where art was valued above rationality, and passion above peace and quiet. I would never have been able to rise to his level. I clung to him like a burdock from the very first day of our meeting, hoping that his genius is infectious.

I want to be angry with you so badly and I probably would have been able to do it, but I can't, and that's why I'm angry with myself. Do you have any idea how unfair this is?

You cannot quantify humanity or measure it in some quantities. People are not equal. They are vicious and prone to passions and mistakes. They are contradictory and wrong. Their memories fade. They are deceived by their own eyes.

Any subject can turn into a punishment if it is poorly taught.

Richard turned out to be the same aggressor as during his lifetime, a giant who left behind not empty space, but a vacuum, a black hole, a huge crushing void that over time could destroy our usual routine and destroy our comfort zone.

- Welcome to the world of art. As Gwendolyn keeps repeating, when you enter the theater, you have to leave three things on the doorstep: dignity, modesty and privacy. 
- I thought dignity, modesty and pride. 
She told me about dignity, modesty and self-doubt.

Her laugh was wild and beautiful, like a blooming tiger lily.

- Will you cherish my heart like a jewel in a box?
- I don't know. Will you carry my head in a basket if I am beheaded by pirates?

The point is that Shakespeare is eloquent ... You can justify anyone if you do it poetically enough.

Shakespeare is real, but his characters live in a world of extremes. They are thrown from ecstasy to suffering, from love to hate, from surprise to horror. But this is not melodrama, they are not exaggerating. Every moment is critical to them. A good actor playing in a Shakespearean play - no ... any good actor in principle - he not only utters lines, he feels them. We felt all of our characters' passions as our own. But the emotions of this or that hero do not cancel the emotions of the artist: you simply experience them all at once. Imagine that your thoughts and feelings are mixed up with the thoughts and feelings of another person. Sometimes it can be difficult to figure out who is who. We all felt very keenly. And it became an overwhelming burden for us, we bent under it, like Atlas, who supported the whole world on his shoulders.

- Are you accusing Shakespeare of something?
- I blame him for everything.

The first flakes of snow danced against the black sky. A strange thought flashed through my mind: I hope that the snow will fall and fall and eventually cover the ground and bury everything around.