The Craftsmanship of the One-act PlayLittle, Brown,, 1923 - Počet stran: 396 |
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acters actors AGMAR Alfred Sutro answer artistic atmosphere audi audience become beginning Boston Brander Matthews bring central characters CHAPTER char characterization Charles climax craftsmanship crisis Crockstead dialogue door dramatic situation Dramatic Technique dramatist effect emotions Emperor Jones ence enters episodes Eugene O'Neill exposition expressed fact farce G. P. Putnam's Sons George hand human idea important individual instant interest J. M. Barrie lack Lady Gregory's less light logical look Lord Dunsany's means ment minor characters Miss Tassey Monkey's Paw movement natural necessary never O'Neill's one-act play opening perhaps persons phrase Play-Making playwright preparation questions resolution Samuel French scene setting simple Sir J. M. speech stage Stewart and Kidd story suggest suspense tell theater theme thing thought tion Toff truth visible action vivid W. B. Yeats W. W. Jacobs woman words write York
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Strana 257 - Hartley's feet: They're all together this time, and the end is come. May the Almighty God have mercy on Hartley's soul, and on Michael's soul, and on the souls of Sheamus and Patch, and Stephen and Shawn (bending her head"); and may He have mercy on my soul, Nora, and on the soul of every one is left living in the world.
Strana 151 - Then Jael Heber's wife took a nail of the tent, and took a hammer in her hand, and went softly unto him, and smote the nail into his temples, and fastened it into the ground : for he was fast asleep and weary. So he died.
Strana 257 - Maurya stands up again very slowly and spreads out the pieces of Michael's clothes beside the body, sprinkling them with the last of the Holy Water. NORA In a whisper to Cathleen. She's quiet now and easy; but the day Michael was drowned you could hear her crying out from this to the spring well.
Strana 318 - The wind blows out of the gates of the day, The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away, While the faeries dance in a place apart, Shaking their milk-white feet in a ring, Tossing their milk-white arms in the air; For they hear the wind laugh and murmur and sing Of a land where even the old are fair, And even the wise are merry of tongue; But I heard a reed of Coolaney say, When the wind has laughed and murmured and sung, The lonely of heart must wither away.
Strana 330 - ... wearing. It is too big. She opens box, starts to take bird out, cannot touch it, goes to pieces, stands there helpless. Sound of a knob turning in the other room. MRS. HALE snatches the box and puts it in the pocket of her big coat. Enter COUNTY ATTORNEY and SHERIFF. COUNTY ATTORNEY [Facetiously.] Well, Henry, at least we found out that she was not going to quilt it. She was going to — what is it you call it, ladies ? MRS.
Strana 30 - Fiction — if it at all aspires to be art — appeals to temperament. And in truth it must be, like painting, like music, like art, the appeal of one temperament to all the other innumerable temperaments whose subtle and resistless power endows passing events with their true meaning, and creates the moral, the emotional atmosphere of the place and time.
Strana 153 - But you wouldn't want to share the reward? MAN: Is it a poor man like me, that has to be going the roads and singing in fairs, to have the name on him that he took a reward? But you don't want me. I'll be safer in the town. SERGEANT: Well, you can stop. MAN: (Getting up on barrel.) All right, sergeant. I wonder, now, you're not tired out, sergeant, walking up and down the way you are. SERGEANT: If I'm tired I'm used to it.
Strana 319 - Feedin' your face — sinkers and coffee — dat don't touch it. It's way down — at de bottom. Yuh can't grab it, and yuh can't stop it. It moves, and everything moves. It stops and de whole woild stops. Dat's me now — I don't tick, see? — I'ma busted Ingersoll, dat's what. Steel was me, and I owned de woild. Now I ain't steel, and de woild owns me. Aw, hell! I can't see — it's all dark, get me? It's all wrong!
Strana 318 - The years like great black oxen tread the world, And God the herdsman goads them on behind, And I am broken by their passing feet.
Strana 208 - AGMAR 1 am he. ONE Master, my child was bitten in the throat by a death-adder at noon. Spare him, master; he still breathes, but slowly.