There are moments on stage when everything comes together. Then the kid in the front row coughs.
Connie BrockwayMots clés life life-lessons acting perfection
Give me a strong back, over a soft heart.
Connie BrockwayMots clés strength advice love
If you forget your lines, you had better mumble with conviction.
Connie BrockwayMots clés humor advice conviction
Find out what people want to do, then tell them to do it. They'll think you're a genius.
Connie BrockwayMots clés humor advice genius want
And enigmatic smile is worth ten pages of dialog.
Connie BrockwayMots clés advice writing smile acting dialog
Passion is tragedy-in-waiting
Connie BrockwayHe loved but he did not know how to be loved.
Connie BrockwayWhere will you go? What will you do?" he demanded.
"That need be no concern of yours--"
"The hell it isn't!" he shouted. "Everything about you is my concern."
She opened her mouth to deny this but the look of him stopped her. For a long tense moment he studied her and when he spoke his voice was low and furious and yearning.
"I don't give a bloody damn if I never share your bed, your name, or your house -- you are still my concern. You can leave, take yourself from my ken, disappear for the rest of my life but you cannot untangle yourself from my -- my concern. That I have of you, Miss Bede, for that, at least, I do not need your permission."
His words shocked her. She looked decades hence and she saw a specter of what might have been haunting her every moment, her every act, for the rest of her life.
"Your concern is misplaced."
"It's mine to misplace," he said steadily.
He stopped. She heard the intake of his breath. “You are my country, Desdemona.” Yearning, harsh and poignant and she felt herself swaying toward him. “My Egypt. My hot, harrowing desert and my cool, verdant Nile, infinitely lovely and unfathomable and sustaining.”
She gasped.
His gaze fell, shielded by his lashes. An odd, half-mocking smile played about his lips. “You’ll never hear old Blake say something like that.”
She swallowed, unable to speak, her senses abraded by his stimulating words, her pulse hammering in anticipation? Trepidation?
“Remember my words next time he calls you a bloody English rose.
Mots clés love harry rose egypt desdemona
Avery?" she whispered.
He gathered her closer, his eyes still closed.
"Avery?"
"Shh." His voice was low and infinitely sad. "Hush. Tomorrow's waiting outside this door. It's crouching there in an ocean of words and uncertainties. But it's not here yet and we are. Lily. Lillian. Love. I'm begging you. Let me love you again. Let me love you all night long." She answered with a kiss.
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