I love her too, but our neuroses just don't match.

I think it's a mistake to ever look for hope outside of one's self.

I'm the end of the line; absurd and appalling as it may seem, serious New York theater has died in my lifetime.

Man must shape his tools lest they shape him.

The structure of a play is always the story of how the birds came home to roost.

The theater is so endlessly fascinating because it's so accidental. It's so much like life.

Where choice begins, Paradise ends, innocence ends, for what is Paradise but the absence of any need to choose this action?

Without alienation, there can be no politics.

He wants to live on through something-and in his case, his masterpiece is his son. all of us want that, and it gets more poignant as we get more anonymous in this world.

Well, all the plays that I was trying to write were plays that would grab an audience by the throat and not release them, rather than presenting an emotion which you could observe and walk away from.

I think now that the great thing is not so much the formulation of an answer for myself, for the theater, or the play-but rather the most accurate possible statement of the problem.

It is my art. I am better at it than I ever was. And I will do it as long as I can. When you reach a certain age you can slough off what is unnecessary and concentrate on what is. And why not?

The number of elements that have to go into a hit would break a computer down. the right season for that play, the right historical moment, the right tonality.

The problem was to sustain at any cost the feeling you had in the theater that you were watching a real person, yes, but an intense condensation of his experience, not simply a realistic series of episodes.

What is the most innocent place in any country? Is it not the insane asylum? These people drift through life truly innocent, unable to see into themselves at all.

Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets.

Betrayal is the only truth that sticks.

Can anyone remember love? It's like trying to summon up the smell of roses in a cellar. You might see a rose, but never the perfume.

Let you look sometimes for the goodness in me, and judge me not.

If I see an ending, I can work backward.