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.

Man must shape his tools lest they shape him.

... so many tremendous decisions in life are made because it is five o'clock.

A good newspaper, I suppose, is a nation talking to itself.

Today, [theatre's] more likely to be consciously not aimed at the public, but at a more sophisticated or educated public. . . . The result is that some of the sheer humanity has leaked out of the enterprise.

Because it is my name! Because I cannot have another in my life! Because I lie and sign myself to lies! Because I am not worth the dust on the feet of them that hang! How may I live without my name? I have given you my soul; leave me my name!