The struggle to be considered a grown-up begins, I believe, shortly after birth.

Sometimes I want to clean up my desk and go out and say, respect me, I'm a respectable grown-up, and other times I just want to jump into a paper bag and shake and bake myself to death.

to live life as a writer is a very lucky thing.

anyone who writes plays is unbelievably persistent, because there isn't a need in the world for plays. Somehow you internally have to feel a need to write a play.

The trick. . .is to find the balance between the bright colors of humor and the serious issues of identity, self-loathing, and the possibility for intimacy and love when it seems no longer possible or, sadder yet, no longer necessary.

I really worked at becoming more assertive, and now none of my friends talk to me.

Our lives are not totally random. We make commitments, we cause things to happen.