Goodness Is Nothing In The Furnace Of

I Think Plays, Like Books, Are Endemic. They Grow Out Of The Soil Of The Writer And The Place He's Writing About. I Think, You Just Can't Move Them About, You Know.

A Child Is Born Into A World Of Phenomena All Equal In Their Power To Enslave.

You Can't Always Let People Do Their Own Thing.

All Reined Up In Old Language And Old Assumptions, Straining To Jump Clean-hoofed On To A Whole New Track Of Being I Only Suspect Is There. I Can't See It, Because My Educated, Average Head Is Being Held At The Wrong Angle. I Can't Jump Because The Bit Forbids It, And My Own Basic Force - My Horsepower, If You Like - Is Too Little.

You Have Your Words, And I Have Mine.