Adult and Advanced Programing

Any adults interested in auditioning if you have any questions please email the Artistic Director, Laura at  shorelinetheateracademy@gmail.com AND the Musical Theater Director Maria Teresa at MariaTeresaTheaterChoreo@gmail.com or click on the registration link

Any Adults Registered for any of our class programs will have their

production fee waived. 

Monologues for Ages 18+ (College/ Young Adult)

WARNING: Some of these monologues may contain adult language or content.

These monologues are pulled from serious dramas, often with small casts and very little set. These monologues may be hard to understand without context. Feel free to look up a synopsis of the show to help you. Monologues for this age group range from classical plays like Sophocles’ Oedipus to modern dramas like Doubt or Angels in America. Most of these are extremely serious, dramatic monologues. There are comedic monologues for this age group, but it is usually a more sophisticated kind of comedy like satire.

Women’s Monologues

From: Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? – Martha

Men’s Monologues

From: Sophocles’ Antigone – CREON

Sirs, the vessel of our state, after being tossed on wild waves, hath once more been safely steadied by the gods: and ye, out of all the folk, have been called apart by my summons, because I knew, first of all, how true and constant was your reverence for the royal power of Laius; how, again, when Oedipus was ruler of our land, and when he had perished, your steadfast loyalty still upheld their children. Since, then, his sons have fallen in one day by a twofold doom–each smitten by the other, each stained with a brother’s blood–I now possess the throne and all its powers, by nearness of kinship to the dead. No man can be fully known, in soul and spirit and mind, until he hath been seen versed in rule and law-giving. For if any, being supreme guide of the state, cleaves not to the best counsels, but, through some fear, keeps his lips locked, I hold, and have ever held, him most base; and if any makes a friend of more account than his fatherland, that man hath no place in my regard. For I–be Zeus my witness, who sees all things always–would not be silent if I saw ruin, instead of safety, coming to the citizens; nor would I ever deem the country’s foe a friend to myself; remembering this, that our country is the ship that bears us safe, and that only while she prospers in our voyage can we make true friends. Such are the rules by which I guard this city’s greatness. And in accord with them is the edict which I have now published to the folk touching the sons of Oedipus; that Eteocles, who hath fallen fighting for our city, in all renown of arms, shall be entombed, and crowned with every rite that follows the noblest dead to their rest. But for his brother, Polyneices–who came back from exile, and sought to consume utterly with fire the city of his fathers and the shrines of his fathers’ gods–sought to taste of kindred blood, and to lead the remnant into slavery–touching this man, it hath been proclaimed to our people that none shall grace him with sepulture or lament, but leave him unburied, a corpse for birds and dogs to eat, a ghastly sight of shame.

---

From: The Death of a Salesman – Willy

Business is definitely business, but just listen for a minute. You don’t understand this. When I was a boy-eighteen, nineteen—I was already on the road. And there was a question in my mind as to whether selling had a future for me. Because in those days I had a yearning to go to Alaska. See, there were three gold strikes in one month in Alaska, and I felt like going out. Just for the ride, you might say. Oh, yeah, my father lived many years in Alaska. He was an adventurous man. We’ve got quite a little streak of self-reliance in our family. I thought I’d go out with my older bother and try to locate him, and maybe settle in the North with the old man. And I was almost decided to go, when I met a salesman in the Parker House. His name was Dave Singleman. And he was eighty-four years old, and he’d drummed merchandise in thirty-one states. And old Dave, he’d go up to his room, y’understand, put on his green velvet slippers—I’ll never forget—and pick up his phone and call the buyers, and without ever leaving his room, at the age of eighty-four, he made his living. And when I say that, I realized that selling was the greatest career a man could want. ‘Cause what could be more satisfying than to be able to go, at the age of eight-four, into twenty of thirty different cities, and pick up a phone, and be remembered and loved and helped by so may different people? Do you know? When he died— and by the way he died the death of a salesman, in his green velvet slippers in the smoker of the New York, New Haven and Hartford, going into Boston—when he died, Hundreds of salesmen and buyers were at his funeral. Things were sad on a lotta trains for months after that. See In those days there was personality in it, Howard. There was respect, and comradeship, and gratitude in it. Today, it’s all cut and dried and there’s no chance for bringing friendship to bear—or personality. You see what I mean? They don’t know me any more!

---

From: Tale of Two Cities – MANETTE

My child, all that matters is that you did see him – you saw Charles. Tomorrow you’ll marry him. Had it not been Charles it would have been another. If there had been no other I might have felt myself the cause – and the… dark part of my life would have cast its shadow beyond myself… and fallen upon you.
Look at the moon! When I looked upon her from the window of my prison I could not bear her light. It was the worst of tortures to me that she shone so brightly on all that had been taken from me. I looked at the moon and wondered upon the wife and the unborn child from whom I had been torn. Was my child alive – looking up at the moon, or had the shock of its birth killed the mother? Was that child a son who would some day avenge me? Or a son who would never learn of my existence? Or was it a daughter who would grow into a woman knowing nothing of my fate. Year after year I imagined myself wiped from the remembrance of everything I had loved – of everyone who had loved me.
There were other moonlit nights when in my sadness the darkness – silence touched me in a different way. I imagined a daughter – like a vision of the of the wife I had lost – coming to lead me out of my cell – to take me to the home she had made – to a loving husband – beautiful children about her feet –
I’ll not have life long enough to thank God sufficiently for the happiness you brought me. You have brought me out of the darkness.

---

From: The Glass Menagerie – TOM

I was fired for writing a poem on the lid of a shoebox. I left Saint Louis. I descended the step of this fire‐ escape for a last time and followed, from then on, in my father’s footsteps, attempting to find in motion what was lost in space – I travelled around a great deal. The cities swept about me like dead leaves, leaves that were brightly coloured but torn away from the branches. I would have stopped, but I was pursued by something. It always came upon me unawares, taking me altogether by surprise. Perhaps it was a familiar bit of music. Perhaps it was only a piece of transparent glass. Perhaps I am walking along a street at night, in some strange city, before I have found companions. I pass the lighted window of a shop where perfume is sold. The window is filled with pieces of coloured glass, tiny transparent bottles in delicate colours, like bits of a shattered rainbow. Then all at once my sister touches my shoulder. I turn around and look into her eyes … Oh, Laura, Laura, I tried to leave you behind me, but I am more faithful than I intended to be! I reach for a cigarette, I cross the street, I run into the movies or a bar, I buy a drink, I speak to the nearest stranger – anything that can blow your candles out!