It is not opium which makes me work but its absence, and in order for me to feel its absence it must from time to time be present.

The actor is merely a crude empiricist, a practitioner guided by vague instinct.

The race of prophets is extinct. Europe is becoming set in its ways, slowly embalming itself beneath the wrappings of its borders, its factories, its law-courts and its universities. The frozen Mind cracks between the mineral staves which close upon it.

And if there is still one hellish, truly accursed thing in our time, it is our artistic dallying with forms, instead of being like victims burnt at the stake, signaling through the flames.

No one has ever written, painted, sculpted, modeled, built, or invented except literally to get out of hell.

The theater, which is in no thing, but makes use of everything - gestures, sounds, words, screams, light, darkness - rediscovers itself at precisely the point where the mind requires a language to express its manifestations.... To break through language in order to touch life is to create or recreate the theatre.

We do not die because we have to die; we die because one day, and not so long ago, our consciousness was forced to deem it necessary.