The Theatre, Like The Fresco,

One Day History Will Pass Judgment On Each Of The Nations At War; She Will Weigh Their Measure Of Errors, Lies, And Heinous Follies. Let Us Try To Make Ours Light Before Her!

If There Is One Place On The Face Of The Earth Where All The Dreams Of Living Men Have Found A Home From The Very Earliest Days When Man Began The Dream Of Existence, It Is India. For More Than 30 Centuries, The Tree Of Vision, With All Its Thousand Branches And Their Millions Of Twigs, Has Sprung From This Torrid Land, The Burning Womb Of The Gods. It Renews Itself Tirelessly Showing No Signs Of Decay.

The More A Man Lives, The More A Man Creates, The More A Man Loves And Loses Those Whom He Loves, The More Does He Escape From Death. With Every New Blow That We Have To Bear, With Every New Work That We Round And Finish, We Escape From Ourselves, We Escape Into The Work We Have Created, The Soul We Have Loved, The Soul That Has Left Us.

There Is No Joy Other Than The Joy Of Creating. There Is No Man Who Is Truly Alive Other Than One Who Is Creating. All Others Are Just Shadows On The Earth With Nothing To Do With Being Alive. The Joy Of Living, Whether It Is Love Or Action, Is The Joy Of Creating.

You Are A Vain Fellow. You Want To Be A Hero. That Is Why You Do Such Silly Things. A Hero!... I Don't Quite Know What That Is: But, You See, I Imagine That A Hero Is A Man Who Does What He Can. The Others Do Not Do It.