The men climb the Andes.

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

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

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

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.

A cold coming they had of it, at this time of the year; just the worst time of the year to take a journey, and specially a long journey, in.

To leave the open fields and enter the forest, that was the rite. Knowing there was mystery, they could go. Go back now! And he receded among the multitude of …