You Have Your Words, And I Have

Figaro Is A Bad Play. It Stirs Up Hatred Between The Classes. In France, It Has Caused Nothing But Bitterness. My Own Dear Sister,antoinette, Writes Me That She Is Beginning To Be Frightened Of Her Own People.

Goodness Is Nothing In The Furnace Of Art.

Rehearsing A Play Is Making The Word Flesh. Publishing A Play Is Reversing The Process.

Everything We Feel Is Made Of Time. All The Beauties Of Life Are Shaped By It.

If London Is A Watercolor, New York Is An Oil Painting.