I've listened backstage to people applaud. It's like... like waves of love coming over the footlights and wrapping you up. Imagine, to know every night that different hundreds of people love you. They smile. Their eyes shine. You've pleased them. They want you. You belong. Just that alone is worth anything.
Where the hell do you come off sending me your roommate's play for you to star in? I'm your agent, not your mother! I'm not supposed to find plays for you to star in. I'm supposed to field offers, and that's what I do! –'Field offers'? Who told you that, the agent fairy?
OK, I know this is going to disgust you, Michael, but a lot of people are in this business to make money. –You make it out like I'm some flake, George. I am in this business to make money, too. –Really? –Yes! –The Harlem Theatre For The Blind? Strindberg In The Park? The People's Workshop in Syracuse? –OK, now wait a minute. I did nine plays in eight months up in Syracuse. I happened to get great reviews from the New York critics, not that that's why I did it. –Oh, of course not. God forbid you should lose your standing as a cult failure.
Twas the night before Christmas and I spent all the day finishing up on my Christmas display. Now missing all this would be nothing but tragic. So just follow me and I'll show you the magic. Now out in the yard in a glorious clutter is a spectacle there that'll make your heart flutter. With 20-foot cheese balls and a big egg nog fountain and yodelling elves on an ambrosia mountain. A stage where acrobats jump, leap, and prance and honor the day through interpretive dance.