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.
We do not kill the drama, we do not really limit its appeal by failing to encourage the best in it; but we do thereby foster the weakest and poorest elements.
What then is tragedy? In the Elizabethan period it was assumed that a play ending in death was a tragedy, but in recent years we have come to understand that to live on is sometimes far more tragic than death.
Acted drama requires surrender of one’s self, sympathetic absorption in the play as it develops.
When the drama attains a characterization which makes the play a revelation of human conduct and a dialogue which characterizes yet pleases for itself, we reach dramatic literature.
Drama read to oneself is never drama at its best, and is not even drama as it should be.
Rare is the human being, immature or mature, who has never felt an impulse to pretend he is some one or something else.