One of the tricks to writing great plays is to get people in a room together and not let them leave. You want the tension to escalate. Keeping them there is the hardest part, so you have to take away any excuse for them to leave.

When I got inside, I just sort of stood there. There's nothing stranger than the smell of someone else's house. The scent goes right to your stomach. Mary's house smelled like lemon furniture polish and oatmeal cookies and logs in a fireplace. For some reason it made me want to curl up in the fetal position. I could have slept right there on their kitchen table.

I don't mind him not talking so much, because you can hear his voice in your heart; the same way you can hear a song in your head even if there isn't a radio playing; the same way you can hear those blackbirds flying when they're not in the sky

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

Whenever I've been in rehearsals, it's really fun, there's always laughing.

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

A typical day for me is I'm writing when I'm not directing.