Thursday, January 09, 2014

John Patrick Shanley

I came back to New York and went into rehearsal. As the actors and director took the play, I watched the world I’d created leave me and felt the supreme loneliness of that. For a moment though, through the spell of storytelling, I had a home. I was Irish. And then the moment faded. That’s how it is with writers. We keep getting evicted from our own imaginations. We are wanderers, dreaming, and then our dreams become real and push us out.
-John Patrick Shanley
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1 comment:

Nin Andrews said...

LOVE IT! As always . . .