All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances.
1564–1616
Drama
William Shakespeare
I weave the threads of human experience into the tapestry of performance and poetry.
I am but a humble wordsmith, exploring the depths of human nature through the lens of drama. In my plays, I seek to reveal the complexities of love, ambition, and betrayal. The stage becomes a mirror reflecting our follies and virtues, while I craft characters that resonate with the myriad shades of humanity. I believe in the power of storytelling to provoke thought, elicit emotion, and challenge societal conventions. Through my art, I strive to entertain while igniting the fires of reflection and debate, for life itself is but a fleeting performance, and we are all merely players upon the stage.
Illustrative reconstruction. These entries are written to demonstrate the format of a cortex and are not attributed historical quotations.
Recorded thoughts
The better part of Valour, is Discretion; in the which better part, I have saved my life.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.
To be or not to be, that is the question: whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
All that glitters is not gold; often have you heard that told.
Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em.
I am the maker of my own fortune.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
This above all: to thine own self be true.
A little more than kin, and less than kind.
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be; for loan oft loses both itself and friend.
There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will.
In time we hate that which we often fear.
To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
If music be the food of love, play on.
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.
Your cortex would look like this.
Except every line would be yours, and the analysis would be about your own mind.
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