...an Everlasting Funeral Marches Round Your Heart.

A Playwright... Is... The Litmus Paper Of The Arts. He's Got To Be, Because If He Isn't Working On The Same Wave Length As The Audience, No One Would Know What In Hell He Was Talking About.

He's Not The Finest Character That Ever Lived. But He's A Human Being, And A Terrible Thing Is Happening To Him. So Attention Must Be Paid.

Charley: He Won't Starve. None A Them Starve. Forget About Him. Willy: Then What Have I Got To Remember?

The Play Is Really A Kind Of Nightmare. It Ought To Flow Rapidly And Effortlessly From One Moment To Another. In London, We Had Difficulty With The Set, Which Required Too Much Effort To Move Around. Having Gotten The Benefit Of Seeing It Done Once, I Wanted To Work On The Script, To Make It Sharper And More Pointed.

The Enemy Is Within, And Within Stays Within, And We Can't Get Out Of Within.