But we were all feeling that bit shagged and fagged and fashed, it having been an evening of some small energy expenditure.

Without class differences, England would cease to be the living theatre it is.

Death comes along like a gas bill one can't pay.

All human life is here, but the Holy Ghost seems to be somewhere else.

Art is rare and sacred and hard work, and there ought to be a wall of fire around it.

It'll be your own torture," he said, serious. "I hope to God it'll torture you to madness.

It was like a bird of rarest-spun heaven metal or like silvery wine flowing in a spaceship, gravity all nonsense now.