The actor is happy---because he wants to be. I imitate ancient poetry insincerely, yet happily. When I act, you get more of me--- shadowy hero and who I am really. If you object to this, you'll never experience a genuine kiss. Mad on purpose is truly mad. Sad, the miserable isn't really sad. Let the actor lie next to you. You'll be so in love, you won't know what to do. But later, when you see it was all an act, you'll doubt bitterly every famous fact. Like a ballerina posing, you will sleep well, imposing on your pillow---Eurydice in hell. But the ballerina will age, she will die. Make death an act. Go ahead. Try.