"When read aloud, this play—which takes place during the course of one night in the life of a mother whose daughter wants to commit suicide—is like a poem. Although technically not a book, the journey I made with this Pulitzer Prize-winning play affected my life in a deeply personal level. When my 83-year-old father was facing a leg amputation due to diabetes, he attempted suicide. Naively, I tried to encourage him to hang on to life. He replied, “You know how I feel. You’re doing that play.” The role of the daughter, Jessie, was originally written for a dear friend, Susan Kingsley, but she never wanted to be a “Broadway star.” She wanted to stay home with her babies and her husband on their pig and tobacco farm in Kentucky. In 1984 she was killed in an automobile wreck. Marsha’s play was a major turning point in my career, but I would have given it all up, if Susan had been in the play instead of an icy road in Georgia."

"Taking a slight turn, I love the John Wayne film The Quiet Man. It’s quite something. It’s a John Ford movie, it’s John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara. It’s kind of like John Wayne’s Brigadoon. He plays this boxer who killed a man in the ring in the States, and so, to escape his past, he moves to his ancestral little home in Ireland. It’s this quaint little village, and I believe it’s called Innisfree — I know Innisfree is from a Yeats poem, and it sort of represents the small Irish town of heaven; it’s sort of a fantastical place — but the town in The Quiet Man is Innisfree, which makes sense. So he goes there to escape his past, falls in love, of course, with Maureen O’Hara — who wouldn’t? — and her brother turns out to be the enormous, pugilistic, evil, Bluto-like landlord. So the movie cannot be resolved, nor can their love, without one final fistfight. It’s funny; just the other day, I sent a message to my agent, “Remake idea: The Quiet Man?” I have two fists. I can swagger."