drama

Every one of us is a minor tragedy. Most of us learn to cope.

Prior to her reading of the poem, light tears washed over him. He seemed to be leaking out moments that were, as far as he could tell, stored in physical parts of his body _ in his shoulders, his back, his stomach. His body remembered things that his brain ignored.

I'm sorry I left without telling you," she says. "I wasn't ready. I wanted it so much, and I wasn't ready for that.

To deprive the derelicts of hope is right, and to sustain them in their illusory "pipe dreams" is right also.

The moving light, rejoicing in its strength, Sped from the pyre of pine, and urged its way, In golden glory, like some strange new sun...

Only half a page left now. Shall I fill it with 'I love you, I love you'-- like father's page of cats on the mat? No. Even a broken heart doesn't warrant a waste of good paper.

She had no tolerance for scenes which were not of her own making.

I'm so much more scared of white guys than black guys. Like an angry black guys would pull out a gun and be like 'Yo, I'm coming back with my cousins and we're gonna funck you up' and a white guy would be like just 'BANG'!

Physicality is the basis of performance.

When you surround yourself with dramatic people, your life will be full of drama.

- Ay! Thornton o' Marlborough Mill, as we call him.- He is one of the masters you are striving with, is he not? what sort of master is he? - Did yo' ever see a bulldog? Set a bulldog on hindlegs, and dress him up in coat and breeches, and yo'n just getten John Thornton.

If he's the person i think he is, he'll handle it just right" Tarah had said. "If not, your better off without him.

If you live a long life and get to the end of it without ever once having felt crushingly depressed, then you probably haven__ been paying attention.

What sort of attractions do you think lured our coreligionists out of the ghetto and into the mainstream of European culture? Was it the wit of Molière, or the ingenious stage mechanisms of Pixérécourt? Or was it simply the opportunity to cast an eye, without shame, upon the living, unclad human form?

The plays should have the half-life of plutonium.

Everyone thinks I named my cat Mango because of his orange eyes, but that's not the case. I named him Mango because the sounds of his purrs and his wheezes and his meows are all various shades of yellow-orange.

Her heart was finished. It bore, perhaps, records of life, but it wasn't alive. Too late for decoration. Too late for effects. Further handling could only result in cracks and fractures. People could cut themselves on the edgesof her heart, she was sure of it.

...then we went skinny dippin' and did things that frighten the fish...Character, Shelby Eatonton, from the movie, Steel Magnolias.