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135 pages, Unknown Binding
First published January 1, 1956





‘Dearest: I give you the original script of this play of old sorrows, written in tears and blood. A sadly inappropriate gift, it would seem, for a day celebrating happiness. But you will understand. I mean it as a tribute to your love and tenderness which gave me the faith in love that enabled me to face my dead at last and write this play—write it with deep pity and understanding and forgiveness for all the four haunted Tyrones.’ These twelve years, Beloved One, have been a Journey into Light—into love. You know my gratitude. And my love! GeneA Journey through the Dark Night is a triumph of Love and Forgiveness.




You've just told me some high spots in your memories. Want to hear mine? They're all connected with the sea. Here's one. When I was on the Squarehead square rigger, bound for Buenos Aires. Full moon of the Trades. The old hooker driving fourteen knots. I lay on the bowsprit, facing astern, with the water foaming into spume under me, the masts with every sail white in the moonlight, towering above me. I became drunk with the beauty and singing rhythm of it, and for a moment I lost myself--actually lost my life. I was set free! I dissolved in the sea, became white sails and flying spray, became beauty and rhythm, became moonlight and the ship and the high dim-starred sky! I belonged without past or future, within peace and unity and a wild joy, within something greater than my own life, or the life of Man, to Life itself! To God, if you want to put it that way.
”The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves that we are underlings.”
MARY
Reprovingly.
Your father wasn’t finding fault with you. You don’t have to always take Jamie’s part. You’d think you were the one ten years older.
JAMIE
Boredly.
What’s all the fuss about? Let’s forget it.
TYRONE
Contemptuously.
Yes, forget! Forget everything and face nothing! It’s a convenient philosophy if you’re no ambition in life except to—
MARY
James, do be quiet.
She puts an arm around his shoulder—coaxingly.
TYRONE
Mary! For God’s sake, forget the past!
MARY
With strange objective calm.
Why? How can I? The past is the present, isn’t it? It’s the future, too. We all try to lie out of that but life won’t let us.
”Be always drunken. Nothing else matters: that is the only question. If you would not feel the horrible burden of Time weighing on your shoulders and crushing you to the earth, be drunken continually.
Drunken with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you will. But be drunken.”