Rare is the human being, immature or mature, who has never felt an impulse to pretend he is some one or something else.

Back through the ages of barbarism and civilization, in all tongues, we find this instinctive pleasure in the imitative action that is the very essence of all drama.

No drama, however great, is entirely independent of the stage on which it is given.

Drama read to oneself is never drama at its best, and is not even drama as it should be.

But what is drama? Broadly speaking, it is whatever by imitative action rouses interest or gives pleasure.

The drama is a great revealer of life.

In the best farce today we start with some absurd premise as to character or situation, but if the premises be once granted we move logically enough to the ending.