Wit

Now is a time for, dare I say it, kindness. I thought being extremely smart would take care of it. But I see I have been found out.

My only defense is the acquisition of vocabulary.

……, but as I am a scholar I feel obliged to document what it is like here, most of the time, between the dramatic climaxes. In truth it is like this: You cannot imagine how time can be so still. It hangs. It weighs, and yet there is so little of it. It goes so slowly and it is so scarce. If I was writing this scene it would last a full 15 minutes. I would lie here and you would sit there.

It is not my intention to give away the plot; but I think I die at the end.

The attention was flattering. For the first five minutes. Now I know how poems feel.

You cannot imagine how time … can be … so still.             It hangs. It weighs. And yet there is so little of it.             It goes so slowly, and yet it is so scarce.

You cannot imagine how time … can be … so still. It hangs. It weighs. And yet there is so little of it. It goes so slowly, and yet it is so scarce." — Margaret Edson (Wit: A Play)