Don't take it on yourself. Forget now. Live.

Poor brain! How helplessly it dissolves when willing eyes meet and the nose warms to those old jungle scents.

The need of man to wholly realize himself is the only fixed star.

The brain heals the past like an injury.

The theater is so endlessly fascinating because it's so accidental. It's so much like life.

A child's spirit is like a child, you can never catch it by running after it; you must stand still, and, for love, it will soon itself come back.

There is a problem on the so-called commercial stage in New York. The price of a ticket is exorbitant, and there are no longer original productions possible, apparently, on the commercial stage. They are all plays that were taken from either England or smaller theaters, off-Broadway theaters, and so on. The one justification there used to be for the commercial theater was that it originated everything we had, and now it originates nothing. But the powers that be seem perfectly content to have it that way. They don't risk anything anymore, and they simply pick off the cream.