Hysteria is a natural phenomenon, the common denominator of the female nature. It's the female weapon and the test of a man is his ability to cope with it.

Hell is yourself and the only redemption is when a person puts himself aside to feel deeply for another person.

Once you fully apprehend the vacuity of a life without struggle, you are equipped with the basic means of salvation.

Glass breaks so easily. No matter how careful you are.

The helpless can't help the helpless.

The process by which the idea for a play comes to me has always been something I really couldn't pinpoint. A play just seems to materialize; like an apparition, it gets clearer and clearer and clearer. It's very vague at first, as in the case of Streetcar, which came after Menagerie. I simply had the vision of a woman in her late youth. She was sitting in a chair all alone by a window with the moonlight streaming in on her desolate face, and she'd been stood up by the man she planned to marry.

I can't stand a naked light bulb, any more than I can a rude remark or a vulgar action.