Great Stones They Lay Upon His Chest

I Speak My Own Sins; I Cannot Judge Another. I Have No Tongue For It.

Willie Was A Salesman. And For A Salesman, There Is No Rock Bottom To Life?. He's A Man Way Out There In The Blue, Riding On A Smile And A Shoeshine. And When They Start Not Smiling Back - That's An Earthquake.

One Had The Right To Write Because Other People Needed News Of The Inner World, And If They Went Too Long Without Such News They Would Go Mad With The Chaos Of Their Lives.

There Is A Misconception Of Tragedy With Which I Have Been Struck In Review After Review, And In Many Conversations With Writers And Readers Alike. It Is The Idea That Tragedy Is Of Necessity Allied To Pessimism.

I Think Now That The Great Thing Is Not So Much The Formulation Of An Answer For Myself, For The Theatre, Or The Play - But Rather The Most Accurate Possible Statement Of The Problem.