I Think I Was Probably Wondering, Having

George, Who Is Out Somewhere There In The Dark, Who Is Good To Me - Whom I Revile, Who Can Keep Learning The Games We Play As Quickly As I Can Change Them. Who Can Make Me Happy And I Do Not Wish To Be Happy. And Yes, I Do Wish To Be Happy. George And Martha: Sad, Sad, Sad. Whom I Will Not Forgive For Having Come To Rest; For Having Seen Me And Having Said: “yes, This Will Do”. Who Has Made The Hideous, The Hurting, The Insulting Mistake Of Loving… Me, And Must Be Punished For It. George And Martha… Sad, Sad, Sad.

I Think That's Foolishness On The Part Of The Playwright To Write About Himself. People Don't Know Anything About Themselves.

Writing Has Got To Be An Act Of Discovery. Finding Out Things About What One Is Writing About.

I Imagine As An Axiom You Could Say That The Better The Play, The Less "creativity" The Director Need Exert.

Sincerity Doesn't Mean Anything. A Person Can Be Sincere And Be More Destructive Than A Person Who Is Insincere.