18 Best Eugene O'Neill Monologues

The Hairy Ape (Paddy)

Category: Play Role: Paddy From: The Hairy Ape

Paddy says

We belong to this, you’re saying? We make the ship to go, you’re saying? Yerra then, that Almighty God have pity on us! Oh, to be back in the fine days of my youth, ochone! Oh, there was fine beautiful ships them days- clippers wid tall masts touching the sky- fine strong men in them- men that was sons of the sea as if ’twas the mother that bore them. Oh, the clean skins of them, and the clear eyes, the straight backs and full chests of them! Brave men they was, and bold men surely! We’d be sailing out, bound down round the Horn maybe. We’d be making sail in the dawn, with a fair breeze, singing a chanty song wid no care to it. And astern the land would be sinking low and dying out, but we’d give it no heed but a laugh, and never a look behind. For the day that was, was enough, for we was free men- and I’m thinking ’tis only slaves do be giving heed to the day that’s gone or the day to come -until they’re old like me.

(With a sort of religious exaltation.)

Oh, to be scudding south again wid the power of the Trade Wind driving her on steady through the nights and the days! Full sail on her! Nights and days! Nights when the foam of the wake would be flaming wid fire, when the sky’d be blazing and winking wid stars. Or the full of the moon maybe. Then you’d see her driving through the gray night, her sails stretching aloft all silver and white, not a sound on the deck, the lot of us dreaming dreams, till you’d believe ’twas no real ship at all you was on but a ghost ship like the Flying Dutchman they say does be roaming the seas forevermore widout touching a port. And there was the days, too. A warm sun on the clean decks. Sun warming the blood of you, and wind over the miles of shiny green ocean like strong drink to your lungs. Work- aye, hard work- but who’d mind that at all? Sure, you worked under the sky and ’twas work wid skill and daring to it. And wid the day done, in the dog watch, smoking me pipe at ease, the lookout would be raising land maybe, and we’d see the mountains of South Americy wid the red fire of the setting sun painting their white tops and the clouds floating them!

(His tone of exaltation ceases. He goes on mournfully.)

Yerra, what’s the use of talking? ‘Tis a dead man’s whisper.

(To Yank resentfully.)

‘Twas them days men belonged to ships, not now. ‘Twas them days a ship was part of the sea, and a man was part of a ship, and the sea joined all together and made it one.

(Scornfully.)

Is it one wid this you’d be, Yank- black smoke from the funnels smudging the sea, smudging the decks- the bloody engines pounding and throbbing and shaking- wid divil a sight of sun or a breath of clean air- choking our lungs wid coal dust- breaking our backs and hearts in the hell of the stokehole- feeding the bloody furnace- feeding our lives along wid the coal, I’m thinking- caged in steel from a sight of the sky like bloody apes in the Zoo!

(With a harsh laugh.)

Ho-ho, divil mend you! Is it to belong to that you’re wishing? Is it a flesh and blood wheel of the engines you’d be?

The Hairy Ape (Yank)

Category: Play Role: Yank From: The Hairy Ape

Yank says

Say! Sure! Sure I meant it! What de hell- Say, lemme talk! Hey! Hey, you old Harp! Hey, youse guys! Say, listen to me- wait a moment- I gotter talk, see. I belong and he don’t. He’s dead but I’m livin’. Listen to me! Sure I’m part of de engines! Why de hell not! Dey move, don’t dey? Dey’re speed, ain’t dey? Dey smash trou, don’t dey? Twenty-five knots a hour! Dat’s goin’ some! Dat’s new stuff! Dat belongs! But him, he’s too old. He gets dizzy. Say, listen. All dat crazy tripe about nights and days; all dat crazy tripe about stars and moons; all dat crazy tripe about suns and winds, fresh air and de rest of it- Aw hell, dat’s all a dope dream! Hittin’ de pipe of de past, dat’s what he’s doin’. He’s old and don’t belong no more. But me, I’m young! I’m in de pink! I move wit it! It, get me! I mean de ting dat’s de guts of all dis. It ploughs trou all de tripe he’s been sayin’. It blows dat up! It knocks dat dead! It slams dat off en de face of de oith! It, get me! De engines and de coal and de smoke and all de rest of it! He can’t breathe and swallow coal dust, but I kin, see? Dat’s fresh air for me! Dat’s food for me! I’m new, get me? Hell in de stokehole? Sure! It takes a man to work in hell. Hell, sure, dat’s my fav’rite climate. I eat it up! I git fat on it! It’s me makes it hot! It’s me makes it roar! It’s me makes it move! Sure, on’y for me everyting stops. It all goes dead, get me? De noise and smoke and all de engines movin’ de woild, dey stop. Dere ain’t nothin’ no more! Dat’s what I’m sayin’. Everyting else dat makes de woild move, somep’n makes it move. It can’t move witout somep’n else, see? Den yuh get down to me. I’m at de bottom, get me! Dere ain’t nothin’ foither. I’m de end! I’m de start! I start somep’n and de woild moves! It- dat’s me!- de new dat’s moiderin’ de old! I’m de ting in coal dat makes it boin; I’m steam and oil for de engines; I’m de ting in noise dat makes yuh hear it; I’m smoke and express trains and steamers and factory whistles; I’m de ting in gold dat makes it money! And I’m what makes iron into steel! Steel, dat stands for de whole ting! And I’m steel- steel- steel! I’m de muscles in steel, de punch behind it! Slaves, hell! We run de whole woiks. All de rich guys dat tink dey’re somep’n, dey ain’t nothin’! Dey don’t belong. But us guys, we’re in de move, we’re at de bottom, de whole ting is us!

The Hairy Ape (Yank)

Category: Play Role: Yank From: The Hairy Ape

Yank says

I scared her? Why de hell should I scare her? Who de hell is she? Ain’t she de same as me? Hairy ape, huh?

(With his old confident bravado.)

I’ll show her I’m better’n her, if she on’y knew it. I belong and she don’t, see! I move and she’s dead! Twenty-five knots a hour, dats me! Dat carries her but I make dat. She’s on’y baggage. Sure!

(Again bewilderedly.)

But, Christ, she was funny lookin’! Did yuh pipe her hands? White and skinny. Yuh could see de bones trough ’em. And her mush, dat was dead white, too. And her eyes, dey was like dey’d seen a ghost. Me, dat was! Sure! Hairy ape! Ghost, huh? Look at dat arm!

(He extends his right arm, swelling out the great muscles.)

I coulda took her wit dat, wit’ just my little finger even, and broke her in two.

(Again bewilderedly.)

Say, who is dat skoit, huh? What is she? What’s she come from? Who made her? Who give her de noive to look at me like dat? Dis ting’s got my goat right. I don’t get her. She’s new to me. What does a skoit like her mean, huh? She don’t belong, get me! I can’t see her.

(With growing anger.)

But one ting I’m wise to, aw right, aw right! Youse all kin bet your shoits I’ll git even wit her. I’ll show her if she tinks she- She grinds de organ and I’m on de string, huh? I’ll fix her! Let her come down again and I’ll fling her in de furnace! She’ll move den! She won’t shiver at nothin’, den! Speed, dat’ll be her! She’ll belong den!

The First Man (Martha)

Category: Play Role: Martha From: The First Man

Martha says

You’ve got to go. I won’t try to stop you. I’ll help all in my power- as I’ve always done. Only- I can’t go with you any more. And you must help me- to do my work- understanding it. Oh, Curt, I wish I could tell you what I feel, make you feel with me the longing for a child. If you had just the tiniest bit of feminine in you-! But you’re so utterly masculine, dear! That’s what has made me love you, I suppose- so I’ve no right to complain of it. I don’t. I wouldn’t have you changed one bit! I love you! And I love the things you love- your work- because it’s a part of you. And that’s what I want you to do- to reciprocate- to love the creator in me- to desire that I, too, should complete myself with the thing nearest my heart! I know; but, after all, your work is yours, not mine. I have been only a helper, a good comrade, too, I hope, but- somehow- outside of it all. Do you remember two years ago when we were camped in Yunnan, among the aboriginal tribes? It was one night there when we were lying out in our sleeping-bags up in the mountains along the Tibetan frontier. I couldn’t sleep. Suddenly I felt oh, so tired- utterly alone- out of harmony with you- with the earth under me. I became horribly despondent- like an outcast who suddenly realizes the whole world is alien. And all the wandering about the world, and all the romance and excitement I’d enjoyed in it, appeared an aimless, futile business, chasing around in a circle in an effort to avoid touching reality. Forgive me, Curt. I meant myself, not you, of course. Oh, it was horrible, I tell you, to feel that way. I tried to laugh at myself, to fight it off, but it stayed and grew worse. It seemed as if I were the only creature alive- who was not alive. And all at once the picture came of a tribeswoman who stood looking at us in a little mountain village as we rode by. She was nursing her child. Her eyes were so curiously sure of herself. She was horribly ugly, poor woman, and yet- as the picture came back to me- I appeared to myself the ugly one while she was beautiful. And I thought of our children who had died- and such a longing for another child came to me that I began sobbing. You were asleep. You didn’t hear.

(She pauses -then proceeds slowly.)

And when we came back here- to have a home at last, I was so happy because I saw my chance of fulfillment- before it was too late. Now can you understand, dear?

The First Man (Martha)

The First Man (Martha)

Category: Play Role: Martha From: The First Man

You must make allowances for me, Curt. And forgive me. I AM getting old. No, it’s the truth. I’ve reached the turning point. Will you listen to my side of it, and try to see it with sympathy with true understanding forgetting your work for the moment? I have to confess frankly-during the past two years I’ve felt myself- feeling as if I wasn’t … complete. I tried my best to conceal it from you. It would have been so unfair to let you guess while we were still in harness. But oh, how I kept looking forward to the time when we would come back-and rest-in our own home! You know-you said that was your plan-to stay here and write your books-and I was hoping- But you’ve got to go. I won’t try to stop you. I’ll help all in my power-as I’ve always done. Only-I can’t go with you any more. And you must help me-to do my work-by understanding it. Oh, Curt, I wish I could tell you what I feel, make you feel with me the longing for a child. If you had just the tiniest bit of feminine in you-! But you’re so utterly masculine, dear! That’s what has made me love you, I suppose-so I’ve no right to complain of it. I don’t. I wouldn’t have you changed one bit! I love you! And I love the things you love-your work-because it’s a part of you. And that’s what I want you to do-to reciprocate-to love the creator in me-to desire that I, too, should complete myself with the thing nearest my heart! After all, your work is yours, not mine. I have been only a helper, a good comrade, too, I hope, but- somehow-outside of it all. Do you remember two years ago when we were camped in Yunnan, among the aboriginal tribes? It was one night there when we were lying out in our sleeping-bags up in the mountains along the Tibetan frontier. I couldn’t sleep. Suddenly I felt oh, so tired-utterly alone-out of harmony with you-with the earth under me. I became horribly despondent-like an outcast who suddenly realizes the whole world is alien. And all the wandering about the world, and all the romance and excitement I’d enjoyed in it, appeared an aimless, futile business, chasing around in a circle in an effort to avoid touching reality. Forgive me, Curt. I meant myself, not you, of course. Oh, it was horrible, I tell you, to feel that way. I tried to laugh at myself, to fight it off, but it stayed and grew worse. It seemed as if I were the only creature alive-who was not alive. And all at once the picture came of a tribeswoman who stood looking at us in a little mountain village as we rode by. She was nursing her child. Her eyes were so curiously sure of herself. She was horribly ugly, poor woman, and yet-as the picture came back to me-I appeared to myself the ugly one while she was beautiful. And I thought of our children who had died-and such a longing for another child came to me that I began sobbing. You were asleep. You didn’t hear. And when we came back here-to have a home at last, I was so happy because I saw my chance of fulfillment-before it was too late. Now can you understand, dear? Can you?

Ile (Keeney)

Category: Play Role: Keeney From: Ile

Keeney says

That’s my business, Mr. Slocum. I’ll thank you to steer a clear course o’ that. The ice’ll break up soon to no’th’rd. I could see it startin’ to-day. And when it goes and we git some sun, Annie’ll perk up. It ain’t the damned money what’s keepin’ me up in the Northern seas, Tom. But I can’t go back to Homeport with a measly four hundred barrel of ile. I’d die fust. I ain’t never come back home in all my days without a full ship. Ain’t that truth? And d’ you s’pose any of ’em would believe that–any o’ them skippers I’ve beaten voyage after voyage? Can’t you hear ’em laughin’ and sneerin’–Tibbots ‘n’ Harris ‘n’ Simms and the rest–and all o’ Homeport makin’ fun o’ me? “Dave Keeney what boasts he’s the best whalin’ skipper out o’ Homeport comin’ back with a measly four hundred barrel of ile?” Hell! I got to git the ile, I tell you. How could I figger on this ice? It’s never been so bad before in the thirty year I been a-comin’ here. And now it’s breakin’up. In a couple o’days it’ll be all gone. And they’s whale here, plenty of ’em. I know they is and I ain’t never gone wrong yit. I got to git the ile! I got to git it in spite of all hell, and God, I ain’t a-goin’ home till I do git it!

Ile (Mrs. Keeney)

Category: Play Role: Mrs. Keeney From: Ile

Mrs. Keeney says

I wanted to be with you, David, don’t you see? I didn’t want to wait back there in the house all alone as I’ve been doing these last six years since we were married–waiting, and watching, and fearing–with nothing to keep my mind occupied–not able to go back teaching school on account of being Dave Keeney’s wife. I used to dream of sailing on the great, wide, glorious ocean. I wanted to be your side in the danger and vigorous life of it all. I wanted to see you the hero they make you out to be in Homeport. And instead– all I find is ice–and cold–and brutality! Oh, I know it isn’t your fault, David. You see, I didn’t believe you. I guess I was dreaming about the old Vikings in the story-books and I thought you were one of them. es, you were very kind, David. I know that. I won’t stand it–I can’t stand it–pent up these walls like a prisoner. Take me away from here, David! If I don’t get away from here, out of this terrible ship, I’ll go mad! Take me home, David! I can’t think any more. I feel as if the cold and the silence were crushing down on my brain. I’m afraid. Take me home!

Anna Christie (Anna)

Category: Play Role: Anna From: Anna Christie

Anna says

I s’pose if I tried to tell you I wasn’t- that- no more you’d believe me, wouldn’t you? Yes, you would! And if I told you that yust getting out in this barge, and being on the sea had changed me and made me feel different about things,’s if all I’d been through wasn’t me and didn’t count and was yust like it never happened- you’d laugh, wouldn’t you? And you’d die laughing sure if I said that meeting you that funny way that night in the fog, and afterwards seeing that you was straight goods stuck on me, had got me to thinking for the first time, and I sized you up as a different kind of man- a sea man as different from the ones on land as water is from mud- and that was why I got stuck on you, too. I wanted to marry you and fool you, but I couldn’t. Don’t you see how I’d changed? I couldn’t marry you with you believing a lie- and I was shamed to tell you the truth- till the both of you forced my hand, and I seen you was the same as all the rest. And now, give me a bawling out and beat it, like I can tell you’re going to. Will you believe it if I tell you that loving you has made me- clean? It’s the straight goods, honest! Like hell you will! You’re like all the rest!