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SHAKESPEARE:
Aye. The mind loves threes.
Beginning, middle, end.
Birth, life, death.
Knock, knock, knock.

GEORGE:
I knew you’d do that—three examples to explain the “rule of three.”

SHAKESPEARE:
Would you have me offer four? That way lies chaos.

GEORGE:
So why does three work so well? What’s the magic?

SHAKESPEARE:
Because one is a point.
Two is a choice.
Three is a pattern.

GEORGE:
That is… annoyingly perfect.

SHAKESPEARE:
I have practiced.

GEORGE:
Okay—if someone’s never heard the term tricolon, they’ve still heard the sound of it. It shows up in speeches, prayers, comedy, slogans… and in your plays.

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GEORGE:
All right, for the listener who doesn’t want a grammar lecture: antithesis is when you place two opposing ideas side by side—often in a balanced structure—so the contrast hits hard.
Like: light and darkness, love and hate, life and death.
Well let me see let's say give me a famous example one that listeners will recognize
SHAKESPEARE:
Aye. Two wrestlers in one ring. The mind loves a contest.

GEORGE:
Now—here’s my big question. Why does antithesis feel so Shakespearean? It’s everywhere.

SHAKESPEARE:
Because men are everywhere divided.
We want, and we fear.
We swear, and we doubt.
We praise, and we wound.
Antithesis is not merely a device—’tis a mirror.

GEORGE:
So it’s not decoration. It’s psychology.

SHAKESPEARE:
Now you speak sense.

GEORGE:
Okay, give me a famous example—one that listeners will recognize even if they’ve only survived Shakespeare in high school.

SHAKESPEARE:
Then we go to Verona, where passion runs faster than wisdom.

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GEORGE:
Master Shakespeare, are you with us?

SHAKESPEARE (warm, amused):
Indeed, sir. I am ever at your elbow—though I confess, your age is wondrous. In mine own day, men grew old chiefly by avoiding theaters.

GEORGE:
Ha! We’ll take the win where we can.
All right—anaphora. I’m going to pronounce it slowly so I don’t embarrass myself: a-NA-pho-ra.

SHAKESPEARE:
A fair stumbling, sweetly done. And what think you it means?

GEORGE:
Here’s my best “general adult” definition: anaphora is when you repeat the same word or phrase at the beginning of a line or sentence—and that repetition builds rhythm, emphasis, and emotional force.

SHAKESPEARE:
Aye. Like a drumbeat that gathers soldiers—or gathers tears.

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