Thornton Wilder Our Town Quotes

Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you.

EMILY: "Does anyone ever realize life while they live it...every, every minute?" STAGE MANAGER: "No. Saints and poets maybe...they do some.

Only it seems to me that once in your life before you die you ought to see a country where they don't talk in English and don't even want to.

Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it -- every, every minute?

Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?

People are meant to go through life two by two. ’Tain’t natural to be lonesome.

We all know that something is eternal. And it ain’t houses and it ain’t names, and it ain’t earth, and it ain’t even the stars . . . everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you’d be surprised how people are always losing hold of it. There’s something way down deep that’s eternal about every human being.

Good-by, Good-by, world. Good-by, Grover's Corners... Mama and Papa. Good-by 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.

Choose the least important day in your life. It will be important enough.

Wherever you come near the human race there’s layers and layers of nonsense.

Look at that moon. Potato weather for sure.

I want you to try and remember what it was like to have been very young. And particularly the days when you were first in love; when you were like a person sleepwalking, and you didn’t quite see the street you were in, and didn’t quite hear everything that was said to you. You’re just a little bit crazy. Will you remember that, please?

Yes, now you know. Now you know! That's what it was to be alive. To move about in a cloud of ignorance; to go up and down trampling on the feelings of those...of those about you. To spend and waste time as though you had a million years. To be always at the mercy of one self-centered passion, or another. Now you know — that's the happy existence you wanted to go back to. Ignorance and blindness.

Does anybody realize what life is while they're living it- every, every minute?

Everybody has a right to their own troubles.

You've got to love life to have life, and you've got to have life to love life.

Simon Stimson: "...That's what it was to be alive. To move about in a cloud of ignorance; to go up and down trampling on the feelings of those about you. To spend and waste time as though you had a million years. To be always at the mercy of one self-centered passion, or another.

There are the stars--doing their old, old crisscross journeys in the sky. Scholars haven't settled the matter yet, but they seem to think there are no living beings out there. Just chalk... or fire. Only this one is straining away, straining away all the time to make something of itself. Strain's so bad that every sixteen hours everybody lies down and gets a rest.

Let's really look at one another!...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... Wait! One more look. Good-bye , Good-bye world. Good-bye, Grover's Corners....Mama and Papa. Good-bye 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 are too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it--every,every minute? (Emily)

That’s what it was like to be alive. To move about in a cloud of ignorance; to go up and down trampling on the feelings of those...of those about you. To spend and waste time as though you had a million years. To be always at the mercy of one self-centered passion, or another. Now you know- that’s the happy existence you wanted to go back to. Ignorance and blindness. -Simon Stimson, OUR TOWN

Once in a thousand times, it's interesting.

Do human beings ever realize life while they live it ?-every, every minute?

I can't look at everything hard enough!

EMILY: Softly, more in wonder than in grief. I can’t bear it. They’re so young and beautiful. Why did they ever have to get old? Mama, I’m here. I’m grown up. I love you all, everything.—I can’t look at everything hard enough.

Now there are some things we all know, but we don't take'm out and look at'm very often. We all know that something is eternal. And it ain't houses and it ain't names, and it ain't earth, and it ain't even the stars… everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you'd be surprised how people are always losing hold of it. There's something way down deep that's eternal about every human being.

You’ve got to love life to have life, and you’ve got to have life to love life.

You're pretty enough for all normal purposes.

So - people a thousand years from now...This is the way we were: in our growing up and in our marrying and in our living and in our dying.

I’m awfully interested in how big things begin. You know how it is; you’re twenty-one or twenty-two and you make some decisions. . . then whissh! you’re seventy. You’ve been a lawyer for fifty years and that white-haired lady by your side has eaten over 50,000 meals with you. How do such things begin?

Emily: Oh, Mama, 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! Wally's dead, too. 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 really look at one another!...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. Good-bye , Good-bye world. Good-bye, Grover's Corners....Mama and Papa. Good-bye 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 are too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it--every,every minute? Stage Manager: No. (pause) The saints and poets, maybe they do some. Emily: I'm ready to go back.

Y'know — Babylon once had two million people in it, and all we know about 'em is the names of the kings and some copies of wheat contracts . . . and contracts for the sale of slaves. Yet every night all those families sat down to supper, and the father came home from his work, and the smoke went up the chimney,— same as here. And even in Greece and Rome, all we know about the real life of the people is what we can piece together out of the joking poems and the comedies they wrote for the theatre back then. So I'm going to have a copy of this play put in the cornerstone and the people a thousand years from now'll know a few simple facts about us — more than the Treaty of Versailles and the Lind-bergh flight. See what I mean? So — people a thousand years from now — this is the way we were in the provinces north of New York at the beginning of the twentieth century. — This is the way we were: in our growing up and in our marrying and in our living and in our dying. Said by the Stage Manager

our town we like to know the facts about everybody.

Only it seems to me that once in your life before you die you ought to see a country where they don’t talk in English and don’t even want to.

the theatre was the greatest of all the arts.

To survive, a story must arouse wonder.

EMILY: Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?— every, every minute? STAGE MANAGER: No. The saints and poets, maybe—they do some.

Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it...every, every minute? No.

Over there are some Civil War veterans. Iron flags on their graves... New Hampshire boys... had a notion that the Union ought to be kept together, though they’d never seen more than fifty miles of it themselves.

Yes, now you know. Now you know! That’s what it was to be alive. To move about in a cloud of ignorance; to go up and down trampling on the feelings of those . . . of those about you. To spend and waste time as though you had a million years. To be always at the mercy of one self-centered passion, or another. Now you know—that’s the happy existence you wanted to go back to. Ignorance and blindness.

Good-by, Good-by, world. Good-by, Grover’s Corners . . . Mama and Papa. Good-by 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.

Yes, an awful lot of sorrow has sort of quietened down up here. People just wild with grief have brought their relatives up to this hill. We all know how it is... and then time... and sunny days... and rainy days... n' snow... We're all glad they're in a beautiful place and we're coming up here ourselves when our fit's over. Now there are some things we all know but we don't takem' out and look at'm very often. We all know that something is eternal. And it ain't houses and it ain't names, and it ain't earth, and ain't even the stars... everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you'd be surprised how people are always losing hold of it.

You’ve got to love life to have life, and you’ve got to have life to love life. . . . It’s what they call a vicious circle.

There I was in the Congregational Church marryin’ a total stranger.

never knew who to send a letter to with the Thornton Wilder stamp.

They even found themselves able to die if they wanted to.

satisfied my passion for compression.

exasperate the reader as much as he does the sinners he meets on his journey through America selling textbooks. You

Is there no one in town aware of social injustice and industrial inequality?

Yes. I declare—easy as kittens.

perfectly awful things. Farces,—that’s what they are!

Can’t tell, Si. Never had no talent that way.

Well, I heard a lot of the hours struck

There’s a lot of common sense in some superstitions, George.

[Y]ou are a puzzle to me and if I could solve that puzzle I could solve the puzzle of America.

America exists to solve problems. America is the solution to the problem,

where do we go for experience? How do we trust

Under all that sunny generosity of Wilder’s, who’s really there? What’s under that mask? Is there a mask? Theater is the place of masks. Do the three

She made America not just acceptable to Thornton, but necessary;

tell the truth and shame the devil.

That men aren’t naturally good; but girls are.

can remember when a dog could go to sleep all day in the middle of Main Street and nothing come along to disturb him.

Wherever you come near the human race, there’s layers and layers of nonsense. . .

weaned away.

Live people don’t understand, do they?

All I can say is, Emily, don’t.

You not only live it; but you watch yourself living

Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?—every, every minute?

of ignorance;

keep them warm burn everything except Shakespeare.

we came through the depression by the skin of our teeth;

children are a thing only a parent can stand,

Three cheers have invented the wheel.

the master of the house don’t pinch decent, self-respecting girls when he meets them in a dark corridor. I mention no names and make no charges.

Braque and James Joyce, they are the incomprehensibles whom anybody can understand

on the brink of war and then tumbling into it. The

That mask of Wilder’s

is a categorical imperative commanding you to absorb what it is you love and make it yours.

series of infatuations for admired writers.

A man looks pretty small at a wedding

I guess new people aren’t any better than old ones. I’ll bet they almost never are.

Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it...every, every minute? No.

War’s a pleasure—do you hear me?—War’s a pleasure compared to what faces us now: trying to build up a peacetime with you in the middle of it.

Emily: "Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? — Every, every minute?" Stage Manager: "No." Pause. "The saints and poets, maybe — they do some.

True simplicity becomes transcendent. There’s something about the sacred ordinary

Y'know Babylon once had two million people in it, and all we know about 'em is the names of the kings and some copies of wheat contracts . . . and contracts for the sale of slaves. Yet every night all those families sat down to supper, and the father came home from his work, and the smoke went up the chimney, same as here. And even in Greece and Rome, all we know about the real life of the people is what we can piece together out of the joking poems and the comedies they wrote for the theatre back then. So I'm going to have a copy of this play put in the cornerstone and the people a thousand years from now'll know a few simple facts about us more than the Treaty of Versailles and the Lind-bergh flight. See what I mean? So people a thousand years from now this is the way we were in the provinces north of New York at the beginning of the twentieth century. This is the way we were: in our growing up and in our marrying and in our living and in our dying.

I thank Thornton Wilder, who wrote the play that has been an enduring comfort, guide, and inspiration throughout my life. If this novel has a goal, it is to turn the reader back to Our Town, and to all of Wilder’s work. Therein lies the joy.

Soothing stories have been plentiful in all ages. . . . To survive, a story must arouse wonder, wonder in both the senses in which we now employ the word: astonishment at the extent of man’s capability of good and evil, and speculation as to the sources of that capability.

Most everybody's asleep in Grover's Corners. There are a few lights on. Shorty Hawkins, down at the depot, has just watched the Albany train go by. And at the livery stable somebody's setting up late and talking. Yes, it's clearing up. There are the stars doing their old, old crisscross journeys in the sky. Scholars haven't settled the matter yet, but they seem to think there are no living beings up there. Just chalk…or fire. Only this one is straining away, straining away all the time to make something of itself. The strain's so bad that every sixteen hours everybody lies down and gets a rest. Hm…Eleven o'clock in Grover's Corners…You get a good rest, too. Good night.

[On Thornton Wilder's Our Town] "I can't look at everything hard enough": The tragedy is that, while we're alive, we don't view our days in the knowledge that all things must pass. We don't--we can't--value our lives, our loved ones, with the urgent knowledge that they'll one day be gone forever. Emily notices with despair that she and her mother barely look at one another, and she laments our self-possession, our distractedness, the million things that keep us from each other. "Oh, Mama," she cries, "just look at me one minute as though you really saw me. . . . Let's look at one another." But other and daughter remain self-absorbed, each in a private sea of her own thoughts, and that moment of recognition, of connection, never comes. Eventually, Emily has to turn away.

George is this big, affable kid, and I think he’s honest. I think that he’s sensitive. I think he’s smart. I think he’s a lot smarter than certainly a lot of productions may portray him. I think he’s really open-minded and curious about the world. He may not have all of the answers to all of life’s questions, but he’s certainly open to the possibilities of great things.     When George and Rebecca are at the window and they’re looking at the moon, and she has that whole bit about the letter and the way it’s addressed, I think that that moment really shines a light on how vast the universe is. I don’t think that George had ever really considered his place in the universe. In some ways, he’s got this perspective of you want to stay home, you want to stay close, you want to stay safe. But then there’s this whole wide world out there that’s just waiting to be explored, and I don’t think that he even really realizes how vast it is until that moment.

When David heard that I needed a stage name, he started with A and worked his way through the alphabet, ripping off names faster than I thought anyone could think and speak at the same time. When he got to W and said, “Wilder,” the bell went off . . . Thornton Wilder . . . Our Town. I wanted to be “Wilder.

Part of Maya’s magic was the fact that there wasn’t anyone else like her in the world, but somehow everyone could see something of themselves in her story, her aspirations, and the sheer scope of her life. You’re Italian? Maya spoke Italian. You’re a dancer? So was she. You’re from San Francisco? She conducted a streetcar there. She knew everyone, lived everywhere, read everything, and felt it all. The whole world was her home. All people were her people. There’s a scene in Thornton Wilder’s play Our Town that almost could have been describing Maya. Emily Webb is saying goodbye to the world one last time, and she asks the stage manager: “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?—every, every minute?” And he says, “No. The saints and poets, maybe—they do some.” That was Maya. She realized her life while she lived it. And not only that, she savored it—every single second.