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“I do not think, Prospero,' he said, 'that one should attribute a very high degree of reality to your house.”
John Bellairs“Prospero, you are the master of illusion.Lying is your trademark.And you have lied so much to me(Lied about the world, lied about me)That you have ended by imposing on meAn image of myself.Underdeveloped, you brand me, inferior,That s the way you have forced me to see myselfI detest that image! What’s more, it’s a lie!But now I know you, you old cancer,And I know myself as well.”
Aimé Césaire, A Tempest“Interestingly, this speech by Prospero does not contrast the unreality of the stage with the solid, flesh-and-blood existence of real men and women. On the contrary, it seizes on the flimsiness of dramatic characters as a metaphor for the fleeting, fantasy-ridden quality of actual human lives. It is we who are made of dreams, not just such figments of Shakespeare’s imagination as Ariel and Caliban. The cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces of this earth are mere stage scenery after all.”
Terry Eagleton, How to Read Literature“I bought you something" Willows blurts out."You bought...What?"Willow closes her eyes for a second. She's a little surprised she's going to give it to him after all, but there's no going back now. She has to."At the bookstore." She reaches into her bag again, and pushes the package across the table towards him.Guy takes the book out of the bag slowly, Willow waits for him to look disappointed, to look confused that she would buy him such a battered, old-"I love it when used books have notes in the margins, it's the best," Guy says as he flips through the pages. "I always imagine who read it before me." He pauses and looks at one of Prospero's speeches. "I have way too much homework to read this now, but you know what? Screw it. I want to know why it's your favorite Shakespeare. Thank you, that was really nice of you. I mean, you really didn't have to.""But I did anyway," Willow says so quietly she's not even sure hears her.Hey," Guy frowns for a second. "You didn't write anything in here.""Oh, I didn't even think...I, well, I wouldn't even know what to write," Willow says shyly."Well, maybe you'll think of something later," he says.Willow watches Guy read the opening. There's no mistaking it. His smile is genuine, and she can't help thinking that if she can't make David look like this, at least she can do it for someone.”
Julia Hoban, Willow“Caches of data are being recovered all the time. Why, just the other day, I heard that we now had complete texts for all three of Shakespire's plays!”
Dan Abnett, Prospero Burns