| View Blog
|
|
|
|
| Death of a Salesman - Arthur Miller |
'And whenever spring comes to where I am, I suddenlyget the feeling, my God, I'm not gettin' anywhere. What the hell Am I doing, playing around with horses, twenty-eight dollars a week! I'm thirty-four years old, I oughta be makin' my future. That's when I come running home. And now, I get here, and I don't know what to do with myself.
I've always made a poind of not wasting my life, and everytime I come back here I know that all I've done is to waste my life.'
'You're a poet, you know that, Biff? You're - you're an idealist!'
True? I'm just affraid of this being 'thirty-four years old'. On the other hand I don't wanna be a part of this 'machine' of the 'system'...
|
|
Posted by beaker on 2008-04-06 11:38:32 | Rating: | Views: 216
|
|
| |
|
|
Email This to a Friend 