LINDA

Then make Charley your father, Biff. You can’t do that, can you? I don’t say he’s a great
man. Willy Loman never made a lot of money. His name was never in the paper. He’s not
the finest character that ever lived. But he’s a human being, and a terrible thing is
happening to him. So attention must be paid.

He’s not to be allowed to fall into his grave like an old dog. Attention, attention must finally
be paid to such a person. You called him crazy, no, a lot of people think he’s lost his
balance. But you don’t have to be very smart to know what his trouble is. The man is
exhausted. A small man can be just as exhausted as a great man.

He works for a company thirty six years this March, opens up unheard-of territories to
their trademark, and now in his old age they take his salary away. Are they any worse than
his sons? When he brought them business, when he was young, they were glad to see
him. But now his old friends, the old buyers that loved him so and always found some
order to hand him in a pinch, they’re all dead, retired.

He used to be able to make six, seven calls a day in Boston. Now he takes his valises out
of the car and puts them back and takes them out again and he’s exhausted. Instead of
walking he talks now. He drives seven hundred miles, and when he gets there no one
knows him anymore, no one welcomes him. And what goes through a man’s mind, driving
seven hundred miles home without having earned a cent?

Why shouldn’t he talk to himself? Why? When he has to go to Charley and borrow fifty
dollars a week and pretend to me that it’s his pay? How long can that go on? How long?
You see what I’m sitting here and waiting for? And you tell me he has no character? The
man who never worked a day but for your benefit? When does he get the medal for that?
CAROL: Why do you hate me? Because you think me wrong? No. Because I have, you
think, power over you. Listen to me. Listen to me, Professor (pause) It is the power that
you hate. So deeply that, that any atmosphere of free discussion is impossible. It’s not
unlikely. It’s impossible. Isn’t it? Now. The thing which you find so cruel is the selfsame
process of selection I, and my group, go through every day of our lives. In admittance to
school. In our tests, in our class rankings Is it unfair? I can’t tell you. But, if it is fair. Or
even if it is unfortunate but necessary for us, then, by God, so must it be for you. (pause)
You write of your responsibility to the young. Treat us with respect, and that will show
you your responsibility. You write that education is just hazing. (pause) But we worked
to get to this school. (pause) And some of us. (pause) Overcame prejudices. Economic,
sexual, you cannot begin to imagine. And endured humiliations I pray that you and those
you love never will encounter. (pause) To gain admittance here. To pursue that same
dream of security you pursue. We, who, who are, at any moment, in danger of being
deprived of it. By the administration. By the teachers. By you. By, say, one low grade, that
keeps us out of graduate school; by one, say, one capricious or inventive answer on our
parts, which, perhaps, you don t find amusing. Now you know, do you see? What it is to
be subject to that power. Who do you think I am? To come here and be taken in by a
smile. You little yapping fool. You think I want revenge. I don’t want revenge. I WANT
UNDERSTANDING.

Oleanna
David Mammet
BABE: After I shot Zackery, I put the gun down on the piano bench, and then I went out
into the kitchen and made up a pitcher of lemonade. I was dying of thirst. My mouth
was just as dry as a bone. I made it just the way I like it, with lots of sugar and lots of
lemon- about ten lemons in all. Then I added two trays of ice and stirred it up with my
wooded stirring spoon. Then I drank three glasses, one right after the other. They were
large glasses- about this tall. Then suddenly my stomach kind of swole all up. I guess
what caused it was all that sour lemon Then what I did was? I wiped my mouth off with
the back of my hand, like this? I did it to clear off all those little beads of water that had
settled there. Then I called out to Zackery. I said, “Zackery, I’ve made some lemonade.
Can you use a glass?” But he didn’t answer. So I poured him a glass anyway and I took it
out to him. And there he was, lying on the rug. And he was looking up at me trying to
speak words. I said “What?? Lemonade?? You don’t want it? Would you like a Coke
instead?” Then I got the idea- he was telling me to call on the phone for medical help. So
I got on the phone and called up the hospital. I gave my name and address and I told
them my husband was shot and he was lying on the rug and there was plenty of blood. I
guess that’s gonna look kinda bad. Me fixing that lemonade before I called the hospital.
I tell you, I think the reason I made up the lemonade, I mean besides the fact that my
mouth was bone dry, was that I was afraid to call the authorities. I was afraid. I – I really
think I was afraid they would see that I had tried to shoot Zackery, in fact that I had shot
him, and they would accuse me of possible murder and send me away to jail. I mean, in
fact, that’s what did happen. That’s what is happening – ’cause here I am just about
ready to go right off to the Parchment Prison Farm. Yes, here I am just practically on the
brink of utter doom. Why, I feel so all alone.

Crimes of the Heart

Beth Henley
CAROL: The issue here is not what I “feel.” It is not my “feelings,” but the feelings of
women. And men. Your superiors, who’ve been “polled,” do you see? To whom evidence
has been presented, and who have ruled, do you see? Who have weighed the testimony
and the evidence, and have ruled, do you see? That you are negligent. That you are guilty,
that you are found wanting, and in error; and are not, for the reasons so-told, to be given
tenure. That you are to be disciplined. For facts. For facts. Not “alleged,” what is the
word? But proved. Do you see? By your own actions. That is what the tenure committee
has said. That is what my lawyer said. For what you did in class. For what you did in this
office. They’re going to discharge you. As full well they should. You don’t understand?
You’re angry? What has led you to this place? Not your sex. Not your race. Not your
class. YOUR OWN ACTIONS. And you’re angry. You ask me here. What do you want? You
want to “charm” me. You want to “convince” me. You want me to recant. I will not recant.
Why should I…? What I say is right. You tell me, you are going to tell me that you have a
wife and child. You are going to say that you have a career and that you’ve worked for
twenty years for this. Do you know what you’ve worked for? Power. For power. Do you
understand? And you sit there, and you tell me stories. About your house, about all the
private schools, and about privilege, and how you are entitled. To buy, to spend, to mock,
to summon. All your stories. All your silly weak guilt, it’s all about privilege; and you won’t
know it. Don’t you see? You worked for twenty years for the right to insult me. And you
feel entitled to be paid for it.

Oleanna
David Mammet
How I Learned to Drive monologue

I never saw him again. I stayed away from Christmas and Thanksgiving for years after.

It took my uncle seven years to drink himself to death. First he lost his job, then his wife and

finally his drivers license. He retreated to his house and had his bottles delivered. One night he

tried to go downstairs to the basement--and he flew down the steep basement stairs. My aunt

came by weekly to put food on the porch-and she noticed the mail and the papers stacked up,

uncollected. They found him at the bottom of the stairs. Just steps away from his dark room.

Now that I'm old enough, there are some questions I would have liked to have asked him. Who

did it to you, Uncle Peck? How old were you? Were you eleven?

Sometimes I think of my uncle as a kind of Flying Dutchman. In the opera, the Dutchman is
doomed to wander the sea; but every seven years he can come ashore--and if he finds a maiden
who will love him of her own free will--he will be released. And I see Uncle Peck in my mind, in
his Chevy '56, a spirit driving up and down the roads of Carolina--looking for a young girl who,
of her own free will, will love him. Release him.
'night Mother by Marsha Norman

JESSIE Mama, I only told you I was going to kill myself so I could explain it, so you
wouldn't blame yourself, so you wouldn't feel bad. There wasn't anything you could say
to change my mind. I didn't want you to save me. I just wanted you to know. Don't you
see, Mama, everything I do winds up like this. How could I think you would understand?
How could I think you would want a manicure? That we could hold hands for an hour
and then I could go shoot myself? I'm sorry about tonight, Mama, but it's exactly why I'm
doing it. I'm not giving up! This is the other thing I'm trying. And I'm sure there are some
other things that might work, but might work isn't good enough any more. I need
something that will work. This will work. That's why I picked it. Mama, listen. I am not
your child, I am what became of your child. I found an old baby picture of me. And it was
somebody else, not me. It was somebody pink and fat who never heard of sick or lonely,
somebody who cried and got fed,, and reached up and got held and kicked but didn't
hurt anybody, and slept whenever she wanted to, just by closing her eyes. Somebody
who mainly just laid there and laughed at the colors waving around over her head and
chewed on a polka-dot whale and woke up knowing some new trick nearly every day and
rolled over and drooled on the sheet and felt your hand pulling my quilt back up over me.
That's who I started out and this is who is left. (There is no self-pity here) That's what
this is about. It's somebody I lost, all right, it's my own self. Who I never was. Or who I
tried to be and never got there. Somebody I waited for who never came. And never will.
So, see, it doesn't much matter what else happens in the world or in this house, even. I'm
what was worth waiting for and I didn't make it. Me...who might have made a difference
to me...I'm not going to show up, so there's no reason to stay, except to keep you
company, and that's...not reason enough because I'm not...very good company. (A
pause) Am I? Just let me go, Mama, let me go easy.
LOST IN YONKERS by Neil Simon

BELLA You think I can’t have healthy babies, Momma? Well, I can...I’m as strong as an
ox. I’ e worked in that store and taken care of you by myself since I’m twelve years old,
that’s how strong I am... like steel, Momma. Isn’t that how we’re supposed to be?...But
my babies won’t die, because I’ll love them and take care of them...And they won’t get
sick like me or Gert or be weak like Eddie and Louie...My babies will be happier than we
were, because I’ll teach them to be happy....not to grow up and run away or never visit
when they’re older or not be able to breathe because they’re so frightened...and never,
ever to make them spend their lives rubbing my back and my legs because you never
had anyone around who loved you enough to want to touch you, because you made it so
clear you never wanted to be touched with love...Do you know what it’s like to touch
steel, Momma? It’s hard and it’s cold, and I want to be warm and soft with my children....
Look, Momma, I’m not crying...I know you’re very angry with me, but I’m not crying. And
it’s not because I’m afraid to cry. Its because I have no tears left in me. I feel sort of
empty inside. Like you feel all the time. You don’t think I know anything, do you? You
think I’m stupid, don’t you, Momma? ....I’m not a child. If God wanted me to stay a child,
why did me make me look like a woman? ... And feel like a woman inside of me? And
want all the things a woman should have? Is that what I should thank him for? Why did
he do that, Momma, when I can do everything but think like a woman?...I know I get
confused sometimes....and frightened. But if I’m a child, why can’t I be happy like a
child? Why can’t I be satisfied with dolls instead of babies? Let me have my babies,
Momma. Because I have to love somebody. I have to love someone who’ll love me back
before I die...Give me that , Momma, and I promise you, you’ll never worry about being
alone....Because you’ll have us...Me and my husband and my babies...Louie, ell her how
wonderful ha would be... Gert, wouldn’t that make her happy?....Momma? Please say
yes....I need you to say yes...Please? It is deathly silent. No one has moved. Finally,
Grandma gets up slowly, walks to her room, goes in, and quietly closes the door. Hold
me....Somebody please hold me..
‘DENTITY CRISIS by Christopher Durang

JANE When I was eight years old, someone brought me to a theatre with lots of other
children. We had come to see a production of Peter Pan. And I remember something
seemed wrong with whole production, odd things kept happening. Like when the
children would fly, the ropes breaking and the actors would come thumping to ground an
they'd have to be carried off by the stagehands. There seemed to be an unlimited supply
of understudies to take the children's places, and then they'd fall to the ground. And then
the crocodile that chases Captain Hook seemed to be a real crocodile, It wasn't an actor,
and at one point it fell off the stage, crushing several children in the front row. Several
understudies came and took their places in the audience. And from scene to scene
Wendy seemed to get fatter and fatter until finally by the second act she was immobile
and had to be moved with a cart. The voice belonged to the actress playing peter pan.
You remember how in the second act Tinkerbell drinks some poison that Peter's about
to drink, in order to save him? And then Peter turns to the audience and he says that
Tinkerbell's going to die because not enough people believe in fairies, but that if
everybody in the audience claps real hard to show that they do believe in fairies, then
maybe Tinkerbell won't die. and so then all the children started to clap. we clapped very
hard and very long. my palms hurt and even started to bleed I clapped so hard. then
suddenly the actress playing Peter Pan turned to the audience and she said, " that
wasn't enough. You didn't clap hard enough. Tinkerbell's dead. " uh..well, and..and then
everyone started to cry. The actress stalked offstage and refused to continue with the
play, and they finally had to bring down the curtain. No one could see anything through
all the tears, and the ushers had to come help the children up the aisles and out into the
street. I don't think any of us were ever the same after that experience.
The Laramie Project
By Moises Kaufman and the members of the Tectonic Theater Project

On October 7, 1998, a young gay man was discovered bound to a fence in the hills outside
Laramie, Wyoming, savagely beaten and left to die in an act of brutality and hate that
shocked the nation. In one of 200 interviews conducted by the Tectonic Theatre Project
members, one ER doctor tells about his involvement. Aaron McKinney was one of Matthew
Shepard’s two murderers.

DR. CANTWAY: I was working in the emergency room the night Matthew Shepard was
brought in. I don't think that any of us, ah, can remember seeing a patient in that condition
for a long time - those of us who've worked in big city hospitals have seen this. Ah, but we
have some people here who've not worked in a big city hospital. And, ah, it's not something
you expect here.

Ah, you expect it, you expect this kind of injuries to come from a car going down a hill at
eighty miles an hour. You expect to see gross injuries from something like that - this
horrendous, terrible thing. Ah, but you don't expect to see that from someone doing this to
another person.
The ambulance report said it was a beating, so we knew.
Your first thought is... well, certainly you'd like to think that it's somebody from out of town,
that comes through and beats somebody. I mean, things like this happen, you know, and it
happens in Laramie... it offends us.
Now the strange thing is, twenty minutes before Matthew came in, Aaron McKinney was
brought in by his girlfriend. Now I guess he had gotten into a fight later on that night back
in town, so I am workin' on Aaron and the ambulance comes in with Matthew. Now at this
point, I don't know that there's a connection - at all. So I tell Aaron to wait and I go and
treat Matthew. So there's Aaron in one room of the ER, and Matthew in another room two
doors down.
Then two days later, I found out the connection and I was very... struck! They were two
kids! They were both my patients and they were two kids! I took care of both of them... of
both their bodies... And... for a brief moment... I wondered if this is how God feels when he
looks down at us. How we are all his kids... our bodies... our souls... And I felt a great deal
of compassion... for both of them...
REASONS TO BE PRETTY
NEIL LABUTE

CARLY: I’m very attractive. I am. I’ve always been that way but it’s no great big deal to
me—if anything, it’s worked against me for most of my life. (Beat.) It’s about this
(Points.) My face. I was born with it, people. That’s all. I have been given this thing to
wear around, my features, and I’m stuck with it. And yes, over the years it’s gotten me
things, I won’t lie about that, dates and into clubs that I really wanted to get into or
smiles from my father . . . but as I got older it suddenly became a kind of, I dunno what,
but almost like a problem. A real bother that I don’t have any control over. (Beat.) Listen,
I’m not stupid, I know I should be thankful, that I should pray to heaven and be happy
that I’m not scarred or missing an ear—I know girls who hate, I mean, despise their
noses and mouths or the fact that their eyes are too far out on their faces . . . I don’t
have any of those problems and I’m happy about that. I look in the mirror and I see
some beautiful woman looking back at me; my worst day, a line or two, a little pale or
whatnot, but a really good face in there. Smiling. I’m not saying that I don’t understand
how I got lucky in many ways, I do get that, I do, I just want folks to comprehend that
beauty comes with a price, just like ugly does. A different one, of course, and I’ll take
what I’ve got, but I’ve cried myself to sleep at night because of who I am as well, and you
should know that . . . (Beat.) I hope my baby’s OK,—did I mention that we found out it
was a little girl? But I really hope she’s no more than pretty, that’s my wish. That she’s
not some beauty queen that people can’t stop staring at because I’d hate that for her . . .
to be this object, some thing that people can’t help gawking at. ‘Cause if she is— born
like I was, is what I’m saying—if she ends up with a face that is some sorta magnet for
men, the way I’ve been . . . I’d almost rather it was a situation where she was oblivious to
it—not blind or anything, I wouldn’t wish that on her, but close. Some sort of oblivion that
gets pasted over her eyes so she can go about life and not be aware that people are
cruel in many ways. . . not just with their words but with the ways they look at you and
desire you and, and, and . . . almost hate you because of it. (Smiles.) I’m sorry, I didn’t
mean to get all heavy or anything, but I do think about it sometimes. My shift at work’s
kinda long, you know? It is . . . so I’ve usually got some time on my hands to, you know. .
. whatever. Think, I guess.
Our Town

EMILY
That’s the town I knew as a little girl. And, look, there’s the old white fence that
used to be around our house. Oh, I’d forgotten that! I used to love it so!... Oh!
How young mama looks! I didn’t know Mama was ever that young.... Why did
they ever have to get old? Mama, I’m here. I’m grown up.... Oh, Mama, just
look at me one minute as though you really saw me. Mama, fourteen years
have gone by. I’m dead. You’re a grandmother, Mama. I married George
Gibbs, Mama. Wally’s dead, too. Mama, his appendix burst on a camping trip
to North Conway. We felt just terrible about it—don’t you remember? But, just
for a moment now we’re all together. Mama, just for a moment we’re happy.
Let’s look at one another. (Pause).... I can’t. I can’t go on. It goes so fast. We
don’t have time to look at one another. I didn’t realize. So, all that was going
on, and we never noticed. Take me back—up the hill—to my grave. But first:
Wait! One more look. Goodbye, world. Goodbye, Grover’s Corners…Mama
and Papa. Goodbye to clocks ticking, and Mama’s sunflowers. And food and
coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths, and sleeping and waking up.
Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.
Night Mother

I am what became of your child. I found an old baby picture of me. And it was somebody
else, not me. It was somebody pink and fat who never heard of sick or lonely, somebody
who cried and got fed,, and reached up and got held and kicked but didn't hurt anybody,
and slept whenever she wanted to, just by closing her eyes. Somebody who mainly just laid
there and laughed at the colors waving around over her head and chewed on a polka-dot
whale and woke up knowing some new trick nearly every day and rolled over and drooled
on the sheet and felt your hand pulling my quilt back up over me. That's who I started out
and this is who is left. That's what this is about. It's somebody I lost, all right, it's my own
self. Who I never was. Or who I tried to be and never got there. Somebody I waited for who
never came. And never will. So, see, it doesn't much matter what else happens in the world
or in this house, even. I'm what was worth waiting for and I didn't make it. Me...who might
have made a di erence to me...I'm not going to show up, so there's no reason to stay,
except to keep you company, and that's...not reason enough because I'm not...very good
company. Am I.
The Diary of Anne Frank (by Albert Hackett & Frances
Goodrich)
Anne:

Look, Peter, the sky. What a lovely, lovely day! Aren’t the clouds beautiful? You know what I do when it

seems as if I couldn’t stand being cooped up for one more minute? I think myself out. I think myself

on a walk in the park where I used to go with Pim. Where the jonquils and the crocus and the violets

grow down the slopes. You know the most wonderful part about thinking yourself out? You can have

it any way you like. You can have roses and violets and chrysanthemums all blooming at the same

time? It’s funny. I used to take it all for granted. And now I’ve gone crazy about everything to do with

nature. Haven’t you? I wish you had a religion, Peter. Oh, I don’t mean you have to be Orthodox, or

believe in heaven and hell and purgatory and things. I just mean some religion. It doesn’t matter

what. Just to believe in something! When I think of all that’s out there. The trees. And flowers. And

seagulls. When I think of the dearness of you, Peter. And the goodness of people we know, all risking

their lives for us every day. When I think of these good things, I’m not afraid anymore. I find myself,

and God, and I… We’re not the only people have had to suffer. There’ve always been people that’ve

had to. Sometimes one race, sometimes another, and yet…I know it’s terrible, trying to have any faith

when people are doing such horrible things, but you know what I sometimes think? I think the world

may be going through a phase, the way I was with Mother. It’ll pass, maybe not for hundreds of years,

but someday I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are really good at heart. Peter, if you’d

only look at it as part of a great pattern. That we’re just a little minute in the life? Listen to us, going

at each other like a couple of stupid grownups! Look at the sky now. Isn’t it lovely?
Zubaida Ula

And it was so good to be with people who felt like sh*t. I kept feeling
like I don’t deserve to feel this bad, you know?

And someone got up there and said to us – he said um, blah blah blah
blah blah blah and then he said, I’m saying it wrong, but basically he
said, c’mon guys, lets show the world that Laramie is not this kind of
town.

But it is that kind of town. If it wasn’t this kind of town, why did this
happen here? I mean, you know what I mean, like – that’s a lie.

Because it happened here. So how could it not be a town where this

kind of thing happens?

Like, that’s just totally – like, looking at an Escher painting and getting
all confused like, it’s totally like circular logic, like how can you even
say that?

And we have to mourn this and we have to be sad that we live in a

town, a state, a country where sh*t like this happens. I mean, these
are people trying to distance themselves from this crime.

And we need to own this crime. I feel. Everyone needs to own it. We
are like this. We ARE like this. WE are LIKE this.