"All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players.They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts,His acts being seven ages."
With this world being only a set, what happens when we strike it?
What's behind this flat facade? Are we bound to play out our roles, helplessly?
If we do not write our own parts and act willingly and improvise then we become more puppet than human. The stage is set, no doubt. But the set can change and the players can change and the lines can change. Behind us are only the materials that we oursleves have structured together to hide the unpleasent.
