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Tom Stoppard

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

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Анна Орличукmembuat kutipantahun lalu
The law of averages, if I have got this right, means that if six monkeys were thrown up in the air for long enough they would land on their tails about as often as they would land on their——
ROS : Heads.
Johanna Ivanova de Mendozamembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
aware but not going to panic about it– his character note.
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
GUIL : Our names shouted in a certain dawn. . . a message . . . a summons. . . There must have been a moment, at the beginning, where we could have said—no. But somehow we missed it.
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
Death is not anything . . . death is not. . . It’s the absence of presence, nothing more . . . the endless time of never coming back . . . a gap you can’t see, and when the wind blows through it, it makes no sound. . . .
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
GUIL (leaping up) : What a shambles! We’re just not getting anywhere.
ROS (mournfully) : Not even England. I don’t believe in it anyway.
GUIL : What?
ROS : England.
GUIL : Just a conspiracy of cartographers, you mean?
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
ROS : He wouldn’t discriminate between us.
GUIL : Even if he could.
ROS : Which he never could.
GUIL : He couldn’t even be sure of mixing us up.
ROS : Without mixing us up.
GUIL (turning on him furiously) : Why don’t you say something original! No wonder the whole thing is so stagnant! You don’t take me up on anything—you just repeat it in a different order.
ROS : I can’t think of anything original. I’m only good in support
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
(To the grappling LOVERS) All right, no need to indulge yourselves
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
GUIL : No, no, no . . . you’ve got it all wrong . . . you can’t act death. The fact of it is nothing to do with seeing it happen—it’s not gasps and blood and falling about—that isn’t what makes it death. It’s just a man failing to reappear, that’s all—now you see him, now you don’t, that’s the only thing that’s real: here one minute and gone the next and never coming back—an exit, unobtrusive and unannounced, a disappearance gathering weight as it goes on, until, finally, it is heavy with death.
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
ROS and GUIL, holding the belts taut, stare at him in some bewilderment.
HAMLET leaves, dragging the body. They relax the strain on the belts.
ROS : That was close.
GUIL : There’s a limit to what two people can do.
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
PLAYER (to GUIL) : Are you familiar with this play?
GUIL: NO.
PLAYER : A slaughterhouse—eight corpses all told. It brings out the best in us.
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
PLAYER : Between “just desserts” and “tragic irony” we are given quite a lot of scope for our particular talent
Generally speaking, things have gone about as far as they can possibly go when things have got about as bad as they reasonably get.
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
GUIL : Wheels have been set in motion, and they have their own pace, to which we are . . . condemned. Each move is dictated by the previous one—that is the meaning of order.
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
PLAYER (bursts out) : We can’t look each other in the face! (Pause, more in control.) You don’t understand the humiliation of it—to be tricked out of the single assumption which makes our existence viable—that somebody is watching.. . . The plot was two corpses gone before we caught sight of ourselves, stripped naked in the middle of nowhere and pouring ourselves down a bottomless well.
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
GUIL : If it is, and the sun is over there (his right as he faces the audience) for instance, that (front) would be northerly. On the other hand, if it is not morning and the sun is over there (his left) . . . that. . . (lamely) would still be northerly. (Picking up.) To put it another way, if we came from down there (front) and it is morning, the sun would be up there (his left), and if it is actually over there (his right) and it’s still morning, we must have come from up there (behind him), and if that is southerly (his left) and the sun is really over there (front), then it’s the afternoon. However, if no of these is the case——
ROS : Why don’t you go and have a look?
GUIL : Pragmatism?!—is that all you have to offer? You seem to have no conception of where we stand! You won’t find the answer written down for you in the bowl of a compass —I can tell you that.
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
GUIL : Rosencrantz . . .
ROS (absently, still listening) : What?
Pause, short.
GUIL (gently wry) : Guildenstern. . .
ROS (irritated by the repetition) : What?
GUIL : Don’t you discriminate at all?
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
ROS (lugubriously) : His body was still warm.
GUIL : So was hers.
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
But we are comparatively fortunate; we might have been left to sift the whole field of human nomenclature, like two blind men looting a bazaar for their own portraits. . . . At least we are presented with alternatives.
ROS : Well as from now——
GUIL : —But not choice.
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
ROS : Shouldn’t we be doing something—constructive?
GUIL : What did you have in mind? . . . A short, blunt human pyramid . . . ?
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
GUIL (shaking with rage and fright) : It could have been—it didn’t have to be obscene. . . . It could have been—a bird out of season, dropping bright-feathered on my shoulder. . . . It could have been a tongueless dwarf standing by the road to point the way. . . . I was prepared. But it’s this, is it? No enigma, no dignity, nothing classical, portentous, only this—a comic pornographer and a rabble of prostitutes. . . .
Arsen Avchikhanovmembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
ROS (flaring) : I haven’t forgotten—how I used to remember my own name—and yours, oh yes! There were answers everywhere you looked. There was no question about it—people knew who I was and if they didn’t they asked and I told them.
GUIL: YOU did, the trouble is, each of them is . . . plausible, without being instinctive. All your life you live so close to truth, it becomes a permanent blur in the corner of your eye, and when something nudges it into outline it is like being ambushed by a grotesque.
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