I have a contract but it's not a commitment in the ordinary sense. It's our ongoing conversation.
You have your words, and I have mine.
He'll be delivered from madness. What then? He'll feel himself acceptable! What then? Do you think feelings like his can be simply re-attached, like plasters? Stuck on to other objects we select? Look at him!. . . My desire might be to make this boy an ardent husband - a caring citizen - a worshipper of abstract and unifying God. My achievement, however, is more likely to make a ghost!
Rehearsing a play is making the word flesh. Publishing a play is reversing the process.
All reined up in old language and old assumptions, straining to jump clean-hoofed on to a whole new track of being I only suspect is there. I can't see it, because my educated, average head is being held at the wrong angle. I can't jump because the bit forbids it, and my own basic force - my horsepower, if you like - is too little.
You never quite know what's going to strike your imagination, or something that won't going to leave you alone, not going to leave alone, and this was one for me.
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.
I don't like war. I particularly don't like the celebration of war, which I think the administration is a little bit guilty of.
Be On Your Way is one of the favorite songs I've ever written. What a terribly sad song, but what a beautiful melody.
I can dodge bullets, baby!
Look back, to slavery, to suffrage, to integration and one thing is clear. Fashions in bigotry come and go. The right thing lasts.