I talk out the lines as I write them.

These are the intensities that one cannot live with, that he has to outgrow if he wants to survive. But who can help grieving for them? If the blood vessels could hold them, how much better to keep those early loves with us?

Blanche: No, I have the misfortune of being an English instructor. I attempt to instill a bunch of bobby-soxers and drugstore Romeos with a reverence for Hawthorne and Whitman and Poe!

The most dangerous word in any human tongue is the word for brother. It's inflammatory.

All your Western theologies, the whole mythology of them, are based on the concept of God as a senile delinquent.

I have always been pushed by the negative. The apparent failure of a play sends me back to my typewriter that very night, before the reviews are out. I am more compelled to get back to work than if I had a success.

It's interesting, isn't it? . . . the chandelier . . . it reminds me of mushroom soup.