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I had been doing summer stock every summer while I was in college. We did a showcase, like most good conservatories do – monologues and things that agents and casting directors come to see. From that I got an agent.
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I love the soul that dares tread the temptations of his years beneath his youthful feet.
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I remember my youth and the feeling that will never come back any more — the feeling that I could last for ever, outlast the sea, the earth, and all men; the deceitful feeling that lures us on to joys, to perils, to love, to vain effort — to death; the triumphant conviction of strength, the heat of life in the handful of dust, the glow in the heart that with every year grows dim, grows cold, grows small, and expires — and expires, too soon, too soon — before life itself.
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I resemble the poplar,–that tree which, even when old, still looks young.
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I studied at the Budapest Academy of Theatrical Arts for four years and emerged with a degree.
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I think I was about six when I saw my father’s penis. I don’t think it affected me because I was so young. And so drunk.
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I touch your hands And my heart goes strong, Like a pair of birds That burst with song. My eyes look down At your lovely face, And I hold a world In my embrace. Younger than springtime, are you Softer than starlight, are you, Warmer than winds of June, Are the gentle lips you gave me. Gayer than laughter, are you, Sweeter than music, are you, Angel and lover, heaven and earth, Are you to me. And when your youth And joy invade my arms, And fill my heart as now they do, Then younger than springtime, am I, Gayer than laughter, am I, Angel and lover, heaven and earth, Am I with you!
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I was between A man and a boy, A hobble-de-hoy, A fat, little, punchy concern of sixteen.
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I, for one, hope that youth will again revolt and again demoralize the dead weight of conformity that now lies upon us.
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