What is one to say about June, the time of perfect young summer, the fulfillment of the promise of the earlier months, and with as yet no sign to remind one that its fresh young beauty will ever fade.
Pretty people aren't as accepted as other people. It's like, 'She's pretty and thin and she's got to have problems. She's messed up.'
All the modern verse plays, they're terrible; they're mostly about the poetry. It's more important that the play is first.

