The best of our theater is standing on tiptoe, striving to see over the shoulders of father and mother. The worst is exploiting and wallowing in the self-pity of adolescence and obsessive keyhole sexuality. The way out, as the poet says, is always through.

The American Dream is the largely unacknowledged screen in front of which all American writing plays itself out.

What is the most innocent place in any country? Is it not the insane asylum? These people drift through life truly innocent, unable to see into themselves at all.

I'm the end of the line; absurd and appalling as it may seem, serious New York theater has died in my lifetime.

The very impulse to write springs from an inner chaos crying for order - for meaning.

Everything we are is at every moment alive in us.

In a dream, we are simply confronted with various loaded symbols, and where one is exhausted, it gives way to another.