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Time goes at a double pace for me these days. I find that it "creeps withal'' when I face the prospect of reciting all afternoon to my reflection in the mirror, with no one to listen; but it seems to have "flown apace'' when I realize it is March 17 and I have had no real dramatic experience except a few weeks of "suping''[?]. I hate this peaceful, inactive life, with nothing to do but exercise to keep from getting fat and working, so as not to waste time. The drudgery of a two-performance-a-day stock company would be a great relief; if I only had a chance to work off this bottled energy! All sorts of wild plans come into my mind of asking Belasco to hear me recite Portia and then consider me for the part; of speaking to Warfield on the same subject; but they simply ferment in my brain and of course nothing happens. But why shouldn't one have the courage for an audacious strike like that? It seems to me that nothing could be lost, except their belief in my sanity; and people thought Hammerstein crazy when he thought of a rural opera house. Every one is thought crazy when he suggests a startling thing - And after all, the audacious things are the only ones worth doing.
Studying without a definite incentive is such dull work; Mary Anderson showed the "divine fire" more, it seems to me, by that first year of study at home, than in her later experiences.