symphony. The root of the matter is that the actor must before all
things form a definite conception of what he wishes to convey. It is
better to be wrong and be consistent, than to be right, yet hesitating
and uncertain. This is why great actors are sometimes very bad or very
good. They will do the wrong thing with a courage and thoroughness
which makes the error all the more striking; although when they are
right they may often be superb. It is necessary that the actor should
learn to think before he speaks; a practice which, I believe, is very
useful off the stage. Let him remember, first, that every sentence
expresses a new thought and, therefore, frequently demands a change
of intonation; secondly, that the thought precedes the word. Of course
there are passages in which thought and language are borne along by
the streams of emotion and completely intermingled. But more often
it will be found that the most natural, the most seemingly accidental
effects are obtained when the working of the mind is seen before the
tongue gives it words.

You will see that the limits of an actor's studies are very wide. To
master the technicalities of his craft, to familiarize his mind
with the structure, rhythm, and the soul of poetry, to be constantly
cultivating his perceptions of life around him and of all the
arts--painting, music, sculpture--for the actor who is devoted to
his profession is susceptible to every harmony of color, sound, and
form--to do this is to labor in a large field of industry. But all
your training, bodily and mental, is subservient to the two great
principles in tragedy and comedy--passion and geniality. Geniality
in comedy is one of the rarest gifts. Think of the rich unction of
Falstaff, the mercurial fancy of Mercutio, the witty vivacity and
manly humor of Benedick--think of the qualities, natural and acquired,
that are needed for the complete portrayal of such characters, and you