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.

Admittedly, art is somewhat like spit. It does not repulse or even worry is while it is still inside of us, but once it exits our body, it becomes disgusting.

This place has only three exits, sir: Madness, and Death.

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.