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Margaret Edson quotes (showing 1-10 of 10)

“Now is a time for, dare I say it, kindness. I thought being extremely smart would take care of it. But I see I have been found out.”
Margaret Edson, Wit
“……, but as I am a scholar I feel obliged to document what it is like here, most of the time, between the dramatic climaxes. In truth it is like this: You cannot imagine how time can be so still. It hangs. It weighs, and yet there is so little of it. It goes so slowly and it is so scarce. If I was writing this scene it would last a full 15 minutes. I would lie here and you would sit there.”
Margaret Edson, Wit
“My only defense is the acquisition of vocabulary.”
Margaret Edson, Wit
“You cannot imagine how time … can be … so still.             It hangs. It weighs. And yet there is so little of it.             It goes so slowly, and yet it is so scarce.”
Margaret Edson, Wit: A Play
“It is not my intention to give away the plot; but I think I die at the end.”
Margaret Edson, Wit
“It has always been my custom to treat words with respect. I can recall the time...when I knew words would be my life's work”
Margaret Edson
tags: words
“The attention was flattering. For the first five minutes. Now I know how poems feel.”
Margaret Edson, Wit
“Classroom teaching withholds nothing. I say to my young students every year, “I know how to add two numbers, but I’m not going to tell you.” And they laugh and shout, “No!” That’s so absurd, so unthinkable. What do I have that I would not give to you?

Bringing nothing, producing nothing, expecting nothing, withholding nothing —
what does that remind you of?
Is this a bizarre occurrence that will go into The Journal of Irreproducible Results?
Or is it something that happens every day, all the time, all over the world,
and is based not on gain and fame, but on love.”
Margaret Edson
“You cannot imagine how time … can be … so still. It hangs. It weighs. And yet there is so little of it. It goes so slowly, and yet it is so scarce.”

― Margaret Edson, Wit: A Play”
Margaret Edson
“If poysonous mineralls, and if that tree, Whose fruit threw death on else immortall us, If lecherous goats, if serpents envious Cannot be damn’d; Alas; why should I bee? Why should intent or reason, borne in mee, Make sinnes, else equall, in mee, more heinous? And mercy being easie, ’and glorious To God, in his sterne wrath, why threatens hee? But who am I, that dare dispute with thee? O God, Oh! of thine onely worthy blood, And my teares, make a heavenly Lethean flood, And drowne in it my sinnes blacke memorie. That thou remember them, some claime as debt, I thinke it mercy, if thou wilt forget.”
Margaret Edson, Wit


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