A Playwright Lives In An Occupied Country.

I Don't Say He's A Great Man. Willie Loman Never Made A Lot Of Money. His Name Was Never In The Paper. He's Not The Finest Character That Ever Lived. But He's A Human Being, And A Terrible Thing Is Happening To Him. So Attention Must Be Paid. He's Not To Be Allowed To Fall In His Grave Like An Old Dog. Attention, Attention Must Finally Be Paid To Such A Person.

And Old Dave, He'd Go Up To His Room, Y'understand, Put On His Green Velvet Slippers - I'll Never Forget - And Pick Up His Phone And Call The Buyers, And Without Leaving His Room, At The Age Of Eighty-four, He Made His Living. And When I Saw That, I Realized That Selling Was The Greatest Career A Man Could Want.

In A Dream, We Are Simply Confronted With Various Loaded Symbols, And Where One Is Exhausted, It Gives Way To Another.

Immortality Is Like Trying To Carve Your Initials In A Block Of Ice In The Middle Of July.

The Success Of A Play, Especially One's First Success, Is Somewhat Like Pushing Against A Door Which Is Suddenly Opened That Was Always Securely Shut Until Then. For Myself, The Experience Was Invigorating. It Suddenly Seemed That The Audience Was A Mass Of Blood Relations, And I Sensed A Warmth In The World That Had Not Been There Before. It Made It Possible To Dream Of Daring More And Risking More.