I hate those men who would send into war youth to fight and die for them; the pride and cowardice of those old men, making their wars that boys must die.

The world doesn't come to the clever folks, it comes to the stubborn, obstinate, one-idea-at-a-time people.

There is something shameful about the death of a play. It does not die with pity, but contempt.

The author lives with one foot in an everyday world and the other feeling about anxiously for a foothold in another more precarious one.

the theater is the only money-making business I know in which haste apparently rules from first to last.

Useless as a pulled tooth.

What a tragedy it was that the only thing age could offer to youth was its own experience, and that the experiences of others were never profitable.