WILLY: Biff Loman is lost. In the greatest country in the world a
young man with such — personal attractiveness, gets lost
WILLY (moving to the right): Funny, y’know? After all the highways,
and the trains, and the appointments, and the years, you
end up worth more dead than alive
CHARLEY: You take it too hard. To hell with it. When a deposit
bottle is broken you don’t get your nickel back
WILLY: You’ll retire me for life on seventy goddam dollars a
week? And your women and your car and your apartment, and
you’ll retire me for life! Christ’s sake, I couldn’t get past
Yonkers today! Where are you guys, where are you? The woods
are burning! I can’t drive a car!
WILLY: Like a young god. Hercules — something like that. And
the sun, the sun all around him. Remember how he waved to
me? Right up from the field, with the representatives of three
colleges standing by? And the buyers I brought, and the cheers
when he came out — Loman, Loman, Loman! God Almighty,
he’ll be great yet. A star like that, magnificent, can never really
fade away!
WILLY: Oh, Ben, how do we get back to all the great times? Used
to be so full of light, and comradeship, the sleigh-riding in winter,
and the ruddiness on his cheeks. And always some kind of
good news coming up, always something nice coming up ahead.
And never even let me carry the valises in the house, and simonizing,
simonizing that little red car! Why, why can’t I give
him something and not have him hate me?
WILLY (with wonder): I was driving along, you understand? And I
was fine. I was even observing the scenery. You can imagine,
me looking at scenery, on the road every week of my life. But
it’s so beautiful up there, Linda, the trees are so thick, and the
sun is warm. I opened the windshield and just let the warm air
bathe over me. And then all of a sudden I’m goin’ off the road!
I’m tellin’ya, I absolutely forgot I was driving. If I’d’ve gone
the other way over the white line I might’ve killed somebody.
LINDA: Are they any worse than his sons? When he brought them
business, when he was young, they were glad to see him. But
now his old friend s, the old buyers that loved him so and always
found some order to hand him in a pinch — they’re all
dead, retired. He used to be able to make six, seven calls a day
in Boston. Now he takes his valises out of the car and puts
them back and takes them out again and he’s exhausted. Instead
of walking he talks no
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