Ibsen Is Like This Room Where We

To Save The Theatre, The Theatre Must Be Destroyed, The Actors And Actresses Must All Die Of The Plague. They Poison The Air, They Make Art Impossible. It Is Not Drama That They Play, But Pieces For The Theatre. We Should Return To The Greeks, Play In The Open Air; The Drama Dies Of Stalls And Boxes And Evening Dress, And People Who Come To Digest Their Dinner.

Anyone Who Presumes To Teach Art Has No Understanding Of It.

The One Happiness Is To Shut One's Door Upon A Little Room, With A Table Before One, And To Create; To Create Life In That Isolation From Life.

To Save The Theatre, The Theatre Must Be Destroyed, And Actors And Actresses All Die Of The Plague ... They Make Art Impossible.

All That I Have To Offer As An Artist Is The Revelation Of My Soul