Tragedy, for me, is not a conflict between right and wrong, but between two different kinds of right.

If London is a watercolor, New York is an oil painting.

The trouble is if you don’t spend your life yourself, other people spend it for you.

And in fact, I think one of the best guides to telling you who you are, and I think children use it all the time for this purpose, is fantasy.

I was an accomplice in my own frustration.

What the eye does not see, the heart does not grieve over, does it?

I think plays, like books, are endemic. They grow out of the soil of the writer and the place he's writing about. I think, you just can't move them about, you know.

Everything we feel is made of Time. All the beauties of life are shaped by it.

Rehearsing a play is making the word flesh. Publishing a play is reversing the process.

Watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching, stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about. That's not love, it's just rubbish.

It's an extraordinary thing about Mozart is that you never tire of him... he never bores me, and he doesn't... not only bore me, that's too strong a word.

It is not titles that honour men, but men that honour titles.

In the minds of their peers, too often students become caricatures of themselves.

A child forgets a time of hunger but never forgets the aching want of other things.

That is, no matther whether th' constitution follows th' flag or not, th' supreme coort follows th' iliction returns.

Early marriage is most prevalent in communities suffering deep, chronic poverty.

No man can possibly know what life means, what the world means, until he has a child and loves it. And then the whole universe changes and nothing will ever again seem exactly as it seemed before.

I have this theory, bands with enigmatic lyrics attract crazies.

The silent majority really is a liberal majority, even though the word liberal has taken a real beating over the last 20 years by radical conservatives.

Muslims are a part of the fabric of this country. By the way, they always have been, and more so now than ever.

His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise.