A suicide kills two people, that's what it's for!

I’m a writer, and everything I write is both a confession and a struggle to understand things about myself and this world in which I live. This is what everyone’s work should be-whether you dance or paint or sing. It is a confession, a baring of your soul, your faults, those things you simply cannot or will not understand or accept. You stumble forward, confused, and you share. If you’re lucky, you learn something.

Where choice begins, Paradise ends, innocence ends, for what is Paradise but the absence of any need to choose this action?

That is a very good question. I don't know the answer. But can you tell me the name of a classical Greek shoemaker?

How to live had started out as an analytical problem of how to place himself so as to intercept the flow of money in the society.

In America, any man who is not a reactionary in his views is open to the charge of alliance with the Red hell.

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.