The world's a stage on which all parts are played.

Todo el mundo es un escenario, todos los hombres y mujeres, meramente jugadores, tienen sus entradas y tienen sus salidas; y, en su tiempo, un hombre juega muchas partes. ¿Otra forma de decirlo? Finge hasta que lo logres.

To quote a Shakespearean cliché, repeated to death because it is so stubbornly true: “All the world’s a stage.” Work is theater. The place where life unfolds to our tragic or comic satisfaction.

I take the world to be but as a stage,
Where net-maskt men do play their personage.

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano, A stage where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one.

The world's a stage where God's omnipotence,
His justice, knowledge, love, and providence
Do act the parts.

If all the world is a stage, where is the audience sitting?

The world’s a theatre, the earth a stage
Which God and Nature do with actors fill.

The world's a stage, & everything else is Vaudeville.

We are in the world and, before we know where we are, we are on one of the paths which we must traverse in our few score years between birth and death. Moreover, each man's path leads up to the theatre on the one side and down from it on the other. The inexorable manager, Fate, requires that each should go through with his comedy or his drama, if he be judged worthy of a leading part, with his scene or his act in another man's piece, if he be fit only to play the walking gentleman, the dumb footman, or the mechanically trained supernumerary who does duty by turns as soldier, sailor, courtier, husbandman, conspirator or red-capped patriot. A few play well, many play badly, all must appear and the majority are feebly applauded and loudly hissed. He counts himself great who is received with such an uproar of clapping and shout of approval as may drown the voice of the discontented; he is called fortunate who, having missed his cue and broken down in his words, makes his exit in the triumphant train of the greater actor upon whom all eyes are turned; he is deemed happy who, having offended no man, is allowed to depart in peace upon his downward road.

Since Sputnik and the satellites, the planet is enclosed in a manmade environment that ends "Nature" and turns the globe into a repertory theater to be programmed. Shakespeare at the Globe mentioning "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players" (As You Like It, Act II, Scene 7) has been justified by recent events in ways that would have struck him as entirely paradoxical. The results of living inside a proscenium arch of satellites is that the young now accept the public spaces of the earth as role-playing areas. Sensing this, they adopt costumes and roles and are ready to "do their thing" everywhere." (p.9-10)

Pythagoras said that this world was like a stage, Whereon many play their parts; the lookers-on, the sage Philosophers are, saith he, whose part is to learn The manners of all nations, and the good from the bad to discern.

But damn it all, aren't we just as some great playwright or someone said, actors on a stage.

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. Another way to say this? Fake it ’til you make it. I love this phrase. There are two ways to read it: 1. Pretend to be something you’re not until you are — fake it until you’re successful, until everybody sees you the way you want them to; or 2. Pretend to be making something until you actually make something.