Top Eugene O'Neill Quotes - Quotesmemo.com

Eugene O'Neill Biography

Eugene Gladstone O'Neill (October 16, 1888 – November 27, 1953) was an American playwright and Nobel laureate in Literature. His poetically titled plays were among the first to introduce into U.S. drama techniques of realism earlier associated with Russian playwright Anton Chekhov, Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen, and Swedish playwright August Strindberg. The drama Long Day's Journey into Night is often numbered on the short list of the finest U.S. plays in the 20th century, alongside Tennessee Williams's A Streetcar Named Desire and Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman.

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Eugene O'Neill Quotes

Obsessed by a fairy tale, we spend our lives searching for a magic door and a lost kingdom of peace.

Discovery, Doors, Fairy, Searching, Spend, Spiritual

Happiness hates the timid. So does science.

Happiness, Hate, Hates, Science, Timid

What's the use coming home to get the blues over what can't be helped.

Coming, Coming Home, Home, Use

What beastly incidents our memories insist on cherishing, the ugly, and the disgusting; the beautiful things we have to keep diaries to remember.

Beautiful, Diaries, Disgusting, Insist, Memories, Things

We fought so long against small things that we became small ourselves.

Became, Fought, Long, Small, Small Things, Things

How thick the fog is. I can't see the road. All the people in the world could pass by and I would never know. I wish it was always that way. It's getting dark already. It will soon be night, thank goodness.

Dark, Fog, Night, Road, Thick, Wish

None of us can help the things life has done to us. They’re done before you realize it, and once they’re done they make you do other things until at last everything comes between you and what you’d like to be, and you’ve lost your true self forever.

Experience, Forever, Life, Lost, Realize, Self

There is no present or future-only the past, happening over and over again-now.

Future, Memories, Present, Time

I knew it. I knew it. Born in a hotel room - and God damn it - died in a hotel room.

Born, Died, Dying, Famous Last Words, Hotel, Rooms

A game of secret, cunning stratagems, in which only the fools who are fated to lose reveal their true aims or motives - even to themselves.

Aims, Fools, Games, Love, Secret, True

Age's terms of peace, after the long interlude of war with life, have still to be concluded-Youth must keep decently away-so many old wounds may have to be unbound, and old scars pointed to with pride, to prove to ourselves we have been brave and noble.

Decently, Old, Old Wounds, Pride, Scars, War

I have had my dance with Folly, nor do I shirk the blame; I have sipped the so-called Wine of Life and paid the price of shame; But I know that I shall find surcease, the rest my spirit craves, Where the rainbows play in the flying spray, 'Mid the keen salt kiss of the waves.

Kissing, Play, Price, Shirk, Wine

Life is perhaps best regarded as a bad dream between two awakenings.

Bad, Dream, Life, Regarded, Two

God gave us mouths that close and ears that don't. . . that should tell us something.

Ears, Gave, Mouths, Should, Tell

Man's loneliness is but his fear of life.

Being Alone, Fear, Life, Loneliness, Lonely

Drunken with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you will. But be drunken.

Drinking, Drunken, Poetry, Virtue, Wine

Dey's some things I don't got to be told. I kin read them in folks' eyes.

Eye, Folks, Kin, Read, Told

Irish as a Paddy's pig.

Irish, Paddy, Pig, Pigs

One should be either sad or joyful. Contentment is a warm sty for eaters and sleepers.

Contentment, Happiness, Joyful, Sad, Sleepers

Why can’t you remember your Shakespeare and forget the third-raters. You’ll find what you’re trying to say in him- as you’ll find everything else worth saying. 'We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with sleep. '' - 'Fine! That’s beautiful. But I wasn’t trying to say that. We are such stuff as manure is made on, so let’s drink up and forget it. That’s more my idea.

Beautiful, Dream, Forget, Shakespeare, Sleep

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