Arthur Miller has died.
Randa at MoorishGirl points to an essay written by Miller on the genesis of 'The Crucible,' and specifically to this paragraph:
'In those years, our thought processes were becoming so magical, so paranoid, that to imagine writing a play about this environment was like trying to pick one's teeth with a ball of wool: I lacked the tools to illuminate miasma. Yet I kept being drawn back to it.'
I feel like this all the time, about our modern America. I will never find the tools to illuminate as Miller did, and it's very frustrating. But this play and his words will live forever, a beacon of light when the fog of miasma rolls in, as it often does.