Writers don't always know what they mean - that's why they write. Their work stands in for them. On the page, the… — John Lahr Copy Share Image
Identity is memory; when memory disappears, the self dissolves and love with it. — John Lahr Copy Share Image
The British playwright Nina Raine is one of her generation's most promising talents. — John Lahr Copy Share Image
Broadway shows in New York draw two times the attendance of all New York sports teams put together. — John Lahr Copy Share Image
The pigeons are shitting on George M. Cohan. I shoo them off. They fly up and perch on his hat. Cohan would've never given… — John Lahr Copy Share Image
I go to the theatre expecting to have a good time. I want each play and performance to take me somewhere. Naturally, this doesn't… — John Lahr Copy Share Image
Dame Edna is that rarest sighting in our time of the absolute comic, an inspired personification of caprice whose comedy answered the primal call… — John Lahr Copy Share Image
We were postwar middle-class white kids living in the slipstream of the greatest per-capita rise in income in the history of Western civilization; we… — John Lahr Copy Share Image
Momentum was part of the exhilaration and the exhaustion of the twentieth century which Coward decoded for the British but borrowed wholesale from the… — John Lahr Copy Share Image
Death of a Salesman' is a brilliant taxonomy of the spiritual atrophy of mid-twentieth-century white America. — John Lahr Copy Share Image
I detest literature. I abominate the theatre. I have a horror of culture. I am only interested in magic! — John Lahr Copy Share Image
In 1957, 'West Side Story' had introduced the musical to the reckless dark side of teen-age life; 'Bye Bye Birdie,' set in Sweet Apple,… — John Lahr Copy Share Image
The New Yorker's' drama critics have always had a comparable authority because, for the most part, the magazine made it a practice to employ… — John Lahr Copy Share Image
