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Men called geniuses have been the joy of my existence—but I didn’t know them as geniuses. All those I’ve known and worked with—Aaron Copland, Clifford Odets, Tennessee Williams, Harold Clurman, Orson Welles, Marlon Brando—have a joyous intensity in work and have passed it on to me. They are blessed…

“Good,” she said, “relax. Give in. I’m going to make us an old-fashioned.”

She was gone. I heard the apartment house’s elevator through the walls. I recalled our brownstone on Seventy-second Street and its porch directly off the bedroom, where I used to sleep nights under the summer sky. Then I …

For my personal needs, I was provided with a “service flat”—four rooms and a housekeeper, who had dinner waiting for me when I came back at night. To attend to other needs, I acquired a mini-harem built around two actresses whom I could call on whenever I chose. They were good girls, lovely as well…

I’VE TRIED to tell the truth in this account of my life. There must be inaccuracies of dates, places, and what people did or failed to do; that’s inevitable in a narration of what happened so many years before. But I have told the truth as far as I know it—except for one sentence a page back. The t…

We flew to Rome together, she to catch a plane for the States, I for Athens. The night before, I’d seen the performance of her play and its companion piece by Ed Albee. Watching them, any fool would know that Molly was a nice person and Ed perhaps less nice, but his play had heat and punch, and her…