I Grew Up At The Piano, And

There Is No Point In Trying To Remember Your Dreams ... There Is Only The Unspeakable Joy Of Eavesdropping On Your Spirit, Catching Tiny Glimpses Of Its Independent Life, Resting For A Moment In Its Wisdom, Puzzling, Laughing Sometimes, Over What It's Up To, What It Makes Of You.

I Have Had An Inordinate And Painful Concern For The Audience In My Writing Career.

When ''night, Mother' Opened, I Did Not Know How Long It Would Be Before I Would Have Another Show On Broadway.

Mama, I Know You Used To Ride The Bus. Riding The Bus, And It’s Hot And Bumpy And Crowded And Too Noisy, And More Than Anything Else In The World, You Wanna Get Off. And The Only Reason In The World You Don’t Get Off Is It’s Still Fifty Blocks From Where You’re Going. Well, I Can Get Off Right Now If I Want To. Because Even If I Ride Fifty More Years And Get Off Then, It’s Still The Same Place When I Step Down To It. Whenever I Feel Like It, I Can Get Off. Whenever I’ve Had Enough, It’s My Stop. I’ve Had Enough.

After I Won The Pulitzer, There Was This Sense Of, 'ok, That's Enough For You. Now Go Away.' What I Wanted Was To Keep Writing, Keep Working. But No One Would Produce Anything Of Mine They Didn't Think Would Be As Big As ''night, Mother.'