Every monologue in our monologue book comes from a play published by TIFE Theatre. Our first volume of monologues offers 29 original pieces from 23 different plays.
More coming soon! Check out some sample excerpts below and then order your own digital copy of 46 pages of monologues for just $10.
The first time I got paid to hit someone was in the third grade.
Anton Mulligan was the kid I hit. Shelby Washington was the girl who paid me.
I don’t remember if I knew what Anton did, but if I did know, I do know that knowing was incidental. I hit him because Shelby Washington paid me to...
Some years ago, after my husband had been sent to the rock pits, and my children had gone off to work in the tear factories I found myself all alone. And terribly lonely.
Then, one day, I was wandering aimlessly among the foothills, when I came upon a goat.
He was small and ugly. I loved him instantly...
The first and only time I saw my father cry was last summer, at Milton Estik’s funeral, after Milton had driven his car into the reservoir...
I’m sorry!!! Just—Just tell me what I can do. What can I do? Honestly, I can’t deal with the idea of this being weird between us.
Look. I don’t know why the words “I’m kind of in love with you” came out of my mouth.
And I don’t know why they came out of my mouth when I was talking to your brother/sister (actor’s choice which one).
Ma’am. I can not go downtown to your office and make an appeal because— Right except I cannot go downtown to your office, because— Because I am late for Social Studies class, ma’am!
And I can’t go after school, because I work after school, and then I need to pick up Ellory from daycare, and after that there is always something after that and I am eighteen years old and I am alone!
Listen! Hey! It is essential, okay? Essential. That you get your heart broken in high school.
I don’t care if you have to make yourself fall in love with the most basura person imaginable, you need to fall in love and then get your heart broken, because if you don’t—
Allow me to explain...
It is exhausting to hate someone you love.
It’s like walking with a… a tiny shard of glass in the flesh of your heel. Every step you know it’s there.
Whether you’re stepping on tip toe, trying not to anger it, or you’re stepping right on it, trying to walk through it, to bury it inside of you.
You always know it’s there. The love and the hate...