Margaret Edson

Now is a time for, dare I say it, kindness. I thought being extremely smart would take care of it. But I see I have been found out.

It has always been my custom to treat words with respect. I can recall the time...when I knew words would be my life's work

Classroom teaching withholds nothing. I say to my young students every year, __ know how to add two numbers, but I__ not going to tell you._ And they laugh and shout, __o!_ That__ so absurd, so unthinkable. What do I have that I would not give to you?Bringing nothing, producing nothing, expecting nothing, withholding nothing _ what does that remind you of? Is this a bizarre occurrence that will go into The Journal of Irreproducible Results? Or is it something that happens every day, all the time, all over the world,and is based not on gain and fame, but on love.

My only defense is the acquisition of vocabulary.

_, but as I am a scholar I feel obliged to document what it is like here, most of the time, between the dramatic climaxes. In truth it is like this: You cannot imagine how time can be so still. It hangs. It weighs, and yet there is so little of it. It goes so slowly and it is so scarce. If I was writing this scene it would last a full 15 minutes. I would lie here and you would sit there.

The attention was flattering. For the first five minutes. Now I know how poems feel.