My grandmother made dying her life's work.

I came down to the living room one day and my wife was standing in the living room. It wasn't an illusion. I saw her out of the corner of my eye. The moment I saw her, she vanished.

It's a natural thing for people to say, you know, Who's in this book? I find myself get ting a little defensive. People come along and I'm waiting for that first question.

Sometimes silence resolves a conversation confused by Mad Misconstruction.

In life there exist two classes: first class and no class.

I feel like the writer observing the grief, but it is difficult to be detached from it.

My father I liked, but it was only after his death that I got to know him by writing the play.