...an everlasting funeral marches round your heart.

For the political world, I have come to believe, is fundamentally beyond anyone's control, yet we all go on as though it were a kind of vehicle that only needs a change of drivers in order to steer it away from its frequent hair-raising visits to the edge of the cliff.

What work you do! It's strange work for a Christian girl to hang old women!

The world is an oyster but you don't crack it open on a mattress

In a dream, we are simply confronted with various loaded symbols, and where one is exhausted, it gives way to another.

Poor brain! How helplessly it dissolves when willing eyes meet and the nose warms to those old jungle scents.

Today, [theatre's] more likely to be consciously not aimed at the public, but at a more sophisticated or educated public. . . . The result is that some of the sheer humanity has leaked out of the enterprise.