I Read In Order To Write. I

Advances In Technology Neither Impede Nor Augment Literature.

I Was So Mad At My Agent. I Had Polished And Polished And Polished [the Play], And He Referred To It As A Draft. I Wrote Him A Bitter Letter: How Can You Call This A Draft? I Don't Do Drafts! By Now I've Done 18, And Its Turning, In The Rehearsal Room, Into A 19th.

It Isn't The Instrument That Influences High-minded Or Low-minded; It's The Quality Of Mind Itself.

One Reason Writers Write Is Out Of Revenge.

We Have Had, Alas, And Still Have, The Doubtful Habit Of Reverence. Above All, We Respect Things As They Are.