Doing Shakespeare once is not fair to the play. I have been in

The master of stage and screen, Al Pacino, once spoke with reverence of art’s depth: “Doing Shakespeare once is not fair to the play. I have been in Shakespeare plays when it's not until the last two or three performances when I even understand certain things. In the old days star actors would travel the world doing the same parts over and over again.” These words, though born from the craft of theater, echo with wisdom for every walk of life. For they remind us that true understanding comes not in a single attempt, nor in shallow engagement, but in patient repetition, in returning again and again until the hidden layers reveal themselves.

To say “doing Shakespeare once is not fair to the play” is to acknowledge the vastness of genius. The works of Shakespeare are not flat surfaces to be skimmed, but oceans to be explored. One performance, one reading, one encounter barely scratches the surface. Pacino reveals that only through repeated immersion—night after night, role after role—does the actor begin to glimpse the truth hidden within the words. This is no condemnation of the performer’s skill, but an admission of the play’s depth. In this, Shakespeare’s work becomes a mirror of life itself: one encounter is never enough to fathom its meaning.

When Pacino confesses, “it’s not until the last two or three performances when I even understand certain things,” he reveals the humility of true mastery. Great art reveals itself slowly. It resists haste, demanding patience, demanding that the performer live with it long enough for its secrets to unfold. This is why the greatest actors, musicians, and thinkers return to the same works again and again—not because they lack new material, but because they know that the old still has treasures to give. What seems familiar at first becomes strange, what seemed simple becomes profound.

History bears witness to this truth. In the days of old, traveling star actors would perform the same role across the world—Richard III, Hamlet, Othello—again and again, in different cities, before new audiences. Far from dull repetition, this gave them mastery. Each performance was not the same, but a new discovery. They dug deeper, learning not only about the play but about themselves. In another realm, we see the same with Beethoven’s symphonies—conductors return to them over decades, each interpretation different, because the music’s depth cannot be exhausted in a single attempt.

The deeper meaning of Pacino’s words is this: true art, true wisdom, and true mastery are not reached in haste but in repetition. The world often urges us to skim lightly, to sample broadly, to rush from one thing to another. But the greatest rewards lie in returning, revisiting, rehearsing—allowing understanding to ripen slowly, as fruit ripens on the tree. It is only through time, patience, and devotion that we penetrate beyond the surface into the heart of truth.

The lesson for us is clear: in your life, do not mistake first impressions for final truths. Whether in art, in love, in friendship, or in learning, return again and again. Read a great book not once but many times. Practice your craft not in haste, but in sustained devotion. Speak to loved ones not with the same words, but with deeper listening each time. For it is only by revisiting that we discover the layers of meaning hidden beneath the surface of all things.

Practical wisdom must follow. Choose one thing—a book, a skill, a relationship—and give it time. Do not abandon it at the first encounter. Revisit it, refine it, let it shape you as you shape it. Remember Pacino’s counsel: the true understanding often comes only at the end, after repetition, after struggle, after patience. In art as in life, mastery is not won in haste, but given as a gift to those who endure.

Thus, let Pacino’s words echo in your heart: the deepest truths reveal themselves only through repetition. Do not rush past them. Return, rehearse, and rediscover. For only in this way will you find that life, like Shakespeare’s plays, is not a single performance, but an endless unfolding of meaning.