A doctor could make a million dollars if he could figure out a way to bring a boy into the world without a trigger finger.

Great stones they lay upon his chest until he plead aye or nay. They say he give them but two words. "More weight," he says. And died.

Controlled hysteria is what's required. To exist constantly in a state of controlled hysteria. It's agony. But everyone has agony. The difference is that I try to take my agony home and teach it to sing.

The very impulse to write springs from an inner chaos crying for order - for meaning.

That is a very good question. I don't know the answer. But can you tell me the name of a classical Greek shoemaker?

Try to keep the rebel artist alive in you, no matter how attractive or exhausting the temptation.

Well, all the plays that I was trying to write were plays that would grab an audience by the throat and not release them, rather than presenting an emotion which you could observe and walk away from.