Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf Quotes

Martha: Truth or illusion, George; you don't know the difference. George: No, but we must carry on as though we did. Martha: Amen.

I said I was impressed, Martha. I'm beside myself with jealousy. What do you want me to do, throw up?

Dashed hopes and good intentions. Good, better, best, bested.

Martha: Oh, I like your anger. I think that's what I like about you most. Your anger.

You want to dance with me, angel tits?

George, who is out somewhere there in the dark, who is good to me - whom I revile, who can keep learning the games we play as quickly as I can change them. Who can make me happy and I do not wish to be happy. And yes, I do wish to be happy. George and Martha: Sad, sad, sad. Whom I will not forgive for having come to rest; for having seen me and having said: “Yes, this will do”. Who has made the hideous, the hurting, the insulting mistake of loving… me, and must be punished for it. George and Martha… Sad, sad, sad.

You don't see anything, do you? You see everything but the goddamn mind; you see all the little specs and crap, but you don't see what goes on, do you?

George: Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf? Martha: I am, George. I am.

And the west, encumbered by crippling alliances, and hardened with a morality too rigid to accommodate itself to the swing of events, must ..... eventually ..... fall.

I dance like the wind.

Musical beds is the faculty sport around here.

Awww, 'tis the refuge we take when the unreality of the world weighs too heavy on our tiny heads.

I am a doctor. A.B.... M.A.... PH.D....ABMAPHID! Abmaphid has been variously described as a wasting disease of the frontal lobes, and as a wonder drug. It is actually both.I'm really very mistrustful.

Martha: ... I cry allllll the time; but deep inside, so no one can see me. I cry all the time. And Georgie cries all the time, too. We both cry all the time, and then what we do, we cry, and we take our tears, and we put 'em in the ice box, in the goddamn ice trays until they're all frozen and then... we put them... in our... drinks.

There's no limit to you, is there?

...who tolerates, which is intolerable; who is kind, which is cruel; who understands, which is beyond comprehension...

I swear if you existed I'd divorce you.

You...you've been here quite a long time, haven't you?" What? Oh...yes. Ever since I married What's-her-name. Uh, Martha. Even before that. Forever. Dashed hopes, and good intentions. Good, better, best, bested. How do you like that for a declension, young man?

Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf mean who's afraid of the big bad wolf…who's afraid of living without false illusions

HONEY: (Apologetically, holding up her brandy bottle) I peel labels. GEORGE: We all peel labels, sweetie; and when you get through the skin, all three layers, through the muscle, slosh aside the organs (An aside to NICK) them which is still sloshable--(Back to HONEY) and get down to bone...you know what you do then? HONEY: (Terribly interested) No! GEORGE: When you get down to bone, you haven't got all the way, yet. There's something inside the bone...the marrow...and that's what you gotta get at. (A strange smile at MARTHA)

The most profound indication of social malignancy ... no sense of humor. None of the monoliths could take a joke.

George who is out somewhere there in the dark... George who is good to me, and whom I revile; who understands me, and whom I push off; who can make me laugh, and I choke it back in my throat; who can hold me, at night, so that it's warm, and whom I will bite so there's blood; who keeps learning the games we play as quickly as I can change the rules; who can make me happy and I do not wish to be happy, and yes I do wish to be happy. George and Martha: sad, sad, sad... whom I will not forgive for having come to rest; for having seen me and having said: yes; this will do; who has made the hideous, the hurting, the insulting mistake of loving me and must be punished for it. George and Martha: sad, sad, sad... who tolerates, which is intolerable; who is kind, which is cruel; who understands, which is beyond comprehension...

Пьем за слепое духовное око, за сердечный покой и за цирроз печени.

Honey: I know these people ...

The day Mother Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? killed Father The Outlaw Josey Wales, they were arguing again about the Pre-Reddening game of Major League Baseball.

MARTHA. So? He’s a biologist. Good for him. Biology’s even better. It’s less…abstruse. GEORGE. Abstract. MARTHA. ABSTRUSE! In the sense of recondite. (Sticks her tongue out at GEORGE) Don’t you tell me words. —Edward Albee, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

I'm really very mistrustful. I read somewhere that science-fiction is really not fiction at all... that you people are rearranging my genes so that everyone will be like everyone else... I suspect we will not have much music, much painting, but we will have a civilization of sublime young men, very much like yourself. Cultures and races will vanish. The ants will take over the world...

NICK [smiles at MARTHA. Then, to GEORGE, indicating a side table near the hall]: May I leave my drink here? GEORGE [as NICK exits without waiting for a reply]: Yeah . . . sure . . . why not? We've got half-filled glasses everywhere in the house, wherever Martha forgets she's left them...in the linen closet, on the edge of the bathtub....I even found one in the freezer, once. MARTHA [Amused in spite of herself]: You did not! GEORGE: Yes I did. MARTHA [ibid.]: You did not! GEORGE [Giving HONEY her brandy]: Yes I did. [To HONEY] Brandy doesn't give you a hangover? HONEY: I never mix. And then, I don't drink very much, either. GEORGE [Grimaces behind her back]: Oh...that's good. Your...your husband was telling me about the ...chromosomes. MARTHA [Ugly]: The What? GEORGE: The chromosomes, Martha...the genes, or whatever they are. [To HONEY] You've got quite a ...terrifying husband. HONEY [As if she's being joshed]: Ohhhhhhhhh.... GEORGE: No, really. He's quite terrifying, with his chromosomes, and all. MARTHA: He's in the Math Department. GEORGE: No, Martha...he's a biologist. MARTHA [Her voice rising]: He's in the Math Department! HONEY [Timidly]: Uh...biology. MARTHA [Unconvinced]: Are you sure? HONEY [With a little giggle]: Well, I ought to. [Then as an afterthought] Be. MARTHA [Grumpy]: I suppose so. I don't know who said he was in the Math Department. GEORGE: You did, Martha. MARTHA [By way of irritable explanation]: Well, I can't be expected to remember everything. I meet fifteen new teachers and their goddamn wives...present company outlawed, of course...[HONEY nods, smiles sillily]...and I'm supposed to remember everything. [Pause] So? He's a biologist. Good for him. Biology's even better. It's less...abstruse. GEORGE: Abstract. MARTHA: ABSTRUSE! In the sense of recondite. [Sticks her tongue out at GEORGE] Don't you tell me words. Biology's even better. It's...right at the meat of things. [NICK re-enters] You're right at the meat of things, baby. NICK [Taking his drink from the side table]: Oh? HONEY [With that giggle]: They thought you were in the Math Department. NICK: Well, maybe I ought to be. MARTHA: You stay right where you are...you stay right at the...meat of things. GEORGE: You're obsessed with that phrase, Martha....It's ugly. MARTHA [Ignoring GEORGE...to NICK]: You stay right there. [Laughs] Hell, you can take over the History Department just as easy from there as anywhere else. God knows, somebody's going to take over the History Department, some day, and it ain't going to be Georgie-boy, there...that's for sure. Are ya, swampy...are ya, Hunh? GEORGE: In my mind, Martha, you are buried in cement, right up to your neck. [MARTHA giggles] No...right up to your nose...that's much quieter.

As a young man, I was startled by the popularity of these “misogynistic” portrayals of women in literary works to begin with Nana, Miss Julie, Ulysses, Women, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf. Now, with some experience in life, I believe that it was fueled more by the true nature of men as arrogant, selfish, unfeeling swine in relationships with women rather than breaking down conventional idealization of women BS. If Circe is still alive, the continents would sink in the blue deep oceans under the weight of the pigs.

For most of the people in [my] class,4 art was the truth about life—and life itself, as they saw it, was more or less a lie,” he wrote. “If civilization could be thought of as having a sexuality, art was its sexuality