It Is A Lazy Public Which Promotes

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.

As A Playwright, I Imagine That In One Fashion Or Another I've Been Influenced By Every Single Play I've Ever Experienced.

I Have A Fine Sense Of The Ridiculous, But No Sense Of Humor.

I Have Been Both Overpraised And Underpraised. I Assume By The Time I Finish Writing -- And I Plan To Go On Writing Until I'm 90 Or Gaga -- It Will All Equal Itself Out.

I Think I Sit Down To The Typewriter When It's Time To Sit Down To The Typewriter. That Isn't To Suggest That When I Do Finally Sit Down At The Typewriter, And Write Out My Plays With A Speed That Seems To Horrify All My Detractors And Half Of My Well-wishers, That There's No Work Involved. It Is Hard Work, And One Is Doing All The Work Oneself.