You're traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind,

a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination.

That's the signpost up ahead, Your next stop, the Twilight Zone.

I'm old, Marty.

Oh, Mr. Templeton, you can never be old.

Old.

And getting older every minute that we stand here speaking.

They say, or at least they've said it in most of my plays,

that when a man achieves years, he achieves reason and contentment.

I haven't.

Mr. Templeton, may I suggest that possibly this isn't the day for you to go down there?

Perhaps I should telephone the theater and explain that you can't start rehearsals.

Well, thank you, Marty. But I'll go down there.

I shall rehearse this play and it will open.

I shall cover up the ears with makeup.

And I shall stand in the right places and hope to say the right lines. And when it's over, they'll all say to me, you were wonderful, Mr. Templeton.

Booth Templeton is a man of refinement.

He's handsome, well-dressed, well-spoken, and he has a young, beautiful wife.

But the years are catching up and he hasn't achieved the contentment that he hoped time would bring.

That young wife of his seems to be busying herself with an array of young hunks,

but Templeton has moved past the point of caring.

He's an actor and his fire for that seems to have gone out too.

...