Arthur Miller, R.I.P.

from _Death of a Salesman_ . . .

_Willy_: Then hang yourself! For spite, hang yourself!

_Biff_: No! Nobody’s hanging himself, Willy! I ran down eleven flights with a pen in my hand today. And suddenly I stopped, you hear me? And in the middle of that office building, do you hear this? I stopped in the middle of that building and I saw — the sky. I saw the things that I love in this world. The work and the food and time to sit and smoke. And I looked at the pen and said to myself, what the hell am I grabbing this for? Why am I trying to become what I don’t want to be? What am I doing in an office, making a contemptuous, begging fool of myself, when all I want to be is out there, waiting for me the minute I say I know who I am? Why can’t I say that, Willy?