"He is the elegist of the Freudian "family romance", of the domestic tragedy of which we all die daily, a little bit at a time. The helpless of family love to sustain, let alone heal, the wounds of marriage, of parenthood, and of sonship, has never been so remorselessly and so pathetically portrayed,"
"Our path emerges for a while, then closes / Within a dream."
I would have been much more successful as a seagull or a fish. As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not really want and is not really wanted, who can never belong,who must always be a little in love with death!
伟大
Look in my face.
My name is Might-Have-Been.
I am also called No More, Too Late, Farewell.
Best modern play I’ve read so far; there’s something poignantly Chekhovian about it. Hard to imagine how much pain and near-madness Eugene (I feel close to him already) had to endure to have this written. I’m glad he had found someone who truly loved him.
I told her I want to be a nun, that I had prayed to the blessed virgin to make me sure…Then in the spring something happened to me. I fell in love with James Tyrone and was so happy for a time.