“The heart fills with warm rain that turns to mist and evaporates through a colder artery.”

It just happens quicker and faster now.

If I tried to write that it would just be false. Or I’d have someone enter with a machine gun.

Snow settles in the liver. The bowels grow thick with humidity.

I feel that I’d rather know an actors’ work, or have an instinct about them and sit down and have coffee with them, or I’ll see them in something and I’ll see if I can get along with them in some way, shape, or form.

I’ve never really felt good at the parties, but I have enough friends now that I feel social, I used to feel very antisocial, but I think the theater helps.

I think I’m a little more daunted by when the machinery of the play is really huge.

I know that they want certain things and they’re in a certain room and they smell like this and they look like that.

So I started to think like, “well if I’m going to fight against this, I should learn how to direct”.

I’ll take a break for a couple weeks for a project that is paying me money like a television project which I try to stay away from just to stay financially ahead of the game.

The scent goes right to your stomach.

You don’t really develop feelings about a place till you’ve left it. It’s like a girl or a dog.

I grew up eating hamburger helper, macaroni and cheese, and drinking lots of milk, and looked at lots of cows; but I feel like a New Yorker now, I’ve lived here for sixteen years.

When I got inside, I just sort of stood there. There’s nothing stranger than the smell of someone else’s house

Obviously the power of the Times is discouraging. It’s killing new plays, demolishing one after another.

When it’s just a few scenes and a couple of actors behaving in a room, I feel very confident with that.

A typical day for me is I’m writing when I’m not directing.

You are chaos in my heart – clogging up my arteries. I can’t move on or bring in more love than what was at the start