A Playwright... Is... The Litmus Paper Of

Nevertheless, One Learned Very Early That Books Had To Be Respected; They Were All Putative Bibles And To Some Small Degree Had A Share In Holiness.

I’m A Writer, And Everything I Write Is Both A Confession And A Struggle To Understand Things About Myself And This World In Which I Live. This Is What Everyone’s Work Should Be-whether You Dance Or Paint Or Sing. It Is A Confession, A Baring Of Your Soul, Your Faults, Those Things You Simply Cannot Or Will Not Understand Or Accept. You Stumble Forward, Confused, And You Share. If You’re Lucky, You Learn Something.

A Lot Of My Work Goes To The Center Of Where We Belong--if There Is Any Root To Life -because Nowadays The Family Is Broken Up, And People Don't Live In The Same Place For Very Long.

If You Complain Of People Being Shot Down In The Streets, Of The Absence Of Communication Or Social Responsibility, Of The Rise Of Everyday Violence Which People Have Become Accustomed To, And The Dehumanization Of Feelings, Then The Ultimate Development On An Organized Social Level Is The Concentration Camp... The Concentration Camp Is The Final Expression Of Human Separateness And Its Ultimate Consequence. It Is Organized Abandonment.

Look, We're All The Same; A Man Is A Fourteen-room House - In The Bedroom He's Asleep With His Intelligent Wife, In The Living-room He's Rolling Around With Some Bare Ass Girl, In The Library He's Paying His Taxes, In The Yard He's Raising Tomatoes And In The Cellar He's Making A Bomb To Blow It All Up.