I meet you. I remember you. Who are you? You’re destroying me. You’re good for me. How could I know this city was tailor-made for love? How could I know you fit my body like a glove? I like you. How unlikely. I like you. How slow all of a sudden. How sweet. You cannot… Continue reading Marguerite Duras
What a piece of work is a man! How noble inreason, how infinite in faculty! In form and movinghow express and admirable! In action how like an Angel!in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of theworld! The paragon of animals! And yet to me, what isthis quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no,nor… Continue reading William Shakespeare
Salomé, Salomé, dance for me. I pray thee dance for me. I am sad to-night. Yes, I am passing sad to-night. When I came hither I slipped in blood, which is an evil omen; and I heard, I am sure I heard in the air a beating of wings, a beating of giant wings. I… Continue reading Oscar Wilde
…and after all, the wrong road always leads somewhere. — George Bernard Shaw, The Dark Lady of the Sonnets. Premiered at the Haymarket theatre, London 24 November 1910.
The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh. ― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot. (Grove Press; 1 edition, May 17, 2011) Originally published 1952. Premiered 5 January 1953 at theThéâtre de Babylone, Paris France.
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. ― Oscar Wilde, Lady Windermere’s Fan. Originally published: 1893
“Sometimes I think I have always been sitting like this. I sometimes think I have always been sitting like this, alone by an indifferent fire, curtains closed, night, winter. — Harold Pinter, Family Voices: A Play for Radio. (Grove Pr; First Edition edition (November 1, 1981)
Here, the walls are made of moon and stars, and each breath is mingled with tender coolness like a shiver from lips to lips. — Pauline Albanese, The Closed Doors. (CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 1 edition October 3, 2015)
The scene is memory and is therefore non-realistic. Memory takes a lot of poetic license. It omits some details; others are exaggerated, according to the emotional value of the articles it touches, for memory is seated predominantly in the heart. — Tennessee Williams comments about the concept of his “memory play,” The Glass Menagerie, which… Continue reading Tennessee Williams
Vladimir: Did I ever leave you? Estragon: You let me go. ― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot. (Grove Press; 1 edition, May 17, 2011) Originally published 1952. Premiered 5 January 1953 at theThéâtre de Babylone, Paris France.