I think I'm a little more daunted by when the machinery of the play is really huge.

I don't like the sort of hierarchical, totalitarian type of room a lot of directors can find themselves in.

I've never really felt that I've had the right hair cut, or had the right clothes.

I imagine a soul is a little perfect crystal egg floating in your chest. Somewhere deeper than where they put your heart. Somewhere so deep inside that the doctors can't find it with all their machines and microcameras.

Grief does not expire like a candle or the beacon on a lighthouse. It simply changes temperature. It becomes a kind of personal weather system. Snow settles in the liver. The bowels grow thick with humidity. Ice congeals in the stomach. Frost spiderwebs in the lungs. The heart fills with warm rain that turns to mist and evaporates through a colder artery.

My work is always more emotional than I am. My characters say things to each other that I get accused of not being able to say to my girlfriend.

Fifteen years ago I killed my sister.