But we are mostly what we are, and the turtle stretching toward delicious buds on high does not lighten his carapace by his resolve.

After all the highways, and the trains, and the appointments, and the years, you end up worth more dead than alive.

Betrayal is the only truth that sticks.

A playwright... is... the litmus paper of the arts. He's got to be, because if he isn't working on the same wave length as the audience, no one would know what in hell he was talking about.

They tried to escape technology, to stay away from that and still have relationships with their fellow humans. Very difficult.

If a person measures his spiritual fulfillment in terms of cosmic visions, surpassing peace of mind, or ecstasy, then he is not likely to know much spiritual fulfillment. If, however, he measures it in terms of enjoying a sunrise, being warmed by a child's smile, or being able to help someone have a better day, then he is likely to know much spiritual fulfillment.

Pathos truly is the mode for the pessimist. But tragedy requires a nicer balance between what is possible and what is impossible. And it is curious, although edifying, that the plays we revere, century after century, are the tragedies. In them, and in them alone, lies the belief-optimistic, if you will, in the perfectibility of man.