on a streetcar named success thesis

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On a streetcar named success thesis


Also take notice that these three prominent colors in the text are also represented in the flag of a country that Williams might be commenting on. What are some of the points where the text limits what can be done? Conversely, and more importantly, what are some apparent places where the text leaves things more open for interpretation?

Furthermore, where and how could different interpretations radically change the texts impact or meaning? Go through and pick out two or three scenes in which multiple interpretations can be made. Slight variations—for instance, what Stella does at the very end of the play, and Stanley carrying Blanche to the bed in scene ten—could have a strong impact on an audience in terms of what information is really being communicated, possibly altering the implication that Blanche is raped by Stanley, and the implication that Stella will remain with Stanley after the curtain has fallen.

This list of important quotations A Streetcar Named Desire will help you work with the essay ideasand thesis statements above by allowing you to support your claims. All of the important quotes from the play by Tennessee Williams listed here correspond, at least in some way, to the paper topics above and by themselves can give you great ideas for an essay by offering quotes about other themes, symbols, imagery, and motifs than those already mentioned.

All quotes from A Streetcar Named Desire contain scene numbers so you can find the quotes easily. My tongue is a little—thick! Two is the limit—and three! Eats like one, moves like one, talks like one! Young, young, young man! Has anyone ever told you that you look like a young Prince out of the Arabian Nights? Come here. I want to kiss you, just once, softly and sweetly on your mouth! Drop the bottle top!

Drop it! The bottle top falls. But in this, too, there was a disenchantment. Sometime between the moment when I ordered dinner over the 'phone and when it was rolled into my living room like a corpse on a rubber-wheeled table, I lost all interest in it. Once I ordered a sirloin steak and a. Of course all this was the more trivial aspect of a spiritual dislocation that began to manifest itself in far more disturbing ways.

I soon found myself becoming indifferent to people. A well of cynicism rose in me. Conversations all sounded like they had been recorded years ago and were being played back on a turntable. Sincerity and kindliness seemed to have gone out of my friends' voices.

I suspected them of hypocrisy. I stopped calling them, stopped seeing them. I was impatient of what I took to be inane flattery. I got so sick of hearing people say, "I loved your play! I choked on the words and turned rudely away from the usually sincere person. I no longer felt any pride in the play itself but began to dislike it, probably because I felt too lifeless inside ever to create another.

I was walking around dead in my shoes, and I knew it but there was no one I knew or trusted sufficiently, at that time, to take him aside and tell him what was the matter. This curious condition persisted about three months, till late spring, when I decided to have another eye operation, mainly because of the excuse it gave me to withdraw from the world behind a gauze mask.

It was my fourth eye operation, and perhaps I should explain that I had been afflicted for about five years with a cataract on my left eye which required a series of needling operations and finally an operation on the muscle of the eye. The eye is still in my head. So much for that. Well, the gauze mask served a purpose. While I was resting in the hospital the friends whom I had neglected or affronted in one way or another began to call on me and now that I. Once more they were sincere and kindly voices with the ring of truth in them.

When the gauze mask was removed I found myself in a readjusted world. I checked out of the handsome suite at the first-class hotel, packed my papers and a few incidental belongings and left for Mexico, and elemental country where you can quickly forget the false dignities and conceits imposed by success, a country where vagrants innocent as children curl up to sleep on pavements and human voices especially when their language is not familiar to the ear, are soft as birds'.

My public self, that artifice of mirrors, did not exist here and so my natural being was resumed. The right condition for him is that in which his work is not only convenient but unavoidable. This is an over-simplification. One does not escape that easily from the seductions of an effete way of life.

You cannot arbitrarily say to yourself, I will now continue my life as it was before this thing. Success happened to me. But once you fully apprehend the vacuity of a life without struggle you are equipped with the basic means of salvation. Once you know this is true, that the heart of man, his body. You know, then, that the public Somebody you are when you "have a name" is a fiction created with mirrors and that the only somebody worth being is the solitary and unseen you that existed from your first breath and which is the sum of your actions and so is constantly in a state of becoming under your own volition--and knowing these things, you can even survive the catastrophe of Success!

It is never altogether too late, unless you embrace the Bitch Goddess, as Willimam James called her, with both arms and find in her smothering caresses exactly what the homesick little boy in you always wanted, absolute protection and utter effortlessness. Security is a kind of death, I think, and it can come to you in a storm of royalty checks beside a kidney-shaped pool in Beverly Hills or anywhere at all that is removed from the conditions that made you an artist, if that's what you are or were intedned to be.

Ask anyone who has experienced the kind of success I am talking about--What good is it? Perhaps to get an honest answer you will have to give him a shot of truth-serum but the word he will finally groan is unprintable in genteel publications. Then what is good?

The obsessive interest in human affairs, plus a certain amount of compassion and moral conviction, that first made the experience of living something that must be translated into pigment or music or bodily movement or. William Saroyan wrote a great on this theme, that purity of heart is the one success worth having.

It is slipping away while I write this and while you read it, and the monosyllable of the clock is Loss, Loss, Loss unless you devote your heart to its opposition. Open navigation menu. Close suggestions Search Search. User Settings. Skip carousel. Carousel Previous.

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