Playwriting gets into your blood and you can't stop it. At least not until the producers or the public tell you to.

Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair-

We read many books, because we cannot know enough people.

The end is in the beginning.

When a great poet has lived, certain things have been done once for all, and cannot be achieved again.

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

We see the light but see not whence it comes. O Light Invisible, we glorify Thee!