You cant legislate into existence an act of forgiveness and a true confession; those are mysteries of the human heart, and they occur between one individual and another individual, not a panel of judges sitting asking questions, trying to test your truth.

Night-time is when I brainstorm; last thing, when the family's asleep and I'm alone, I think about the next day's writing and plan a strategy for my assault on the blank page.

For most of my writing life, I've refused to allow myself to believe that writing was a significant form of action. I always felt very uneasy about the fact that all I did was write in a situation as desperate as apartheid South Africa. Whether I was correct or not is a different issue.

The things that converge in the writing of a play come from a complex of motives, a genesis shrouded in a certain kind of mystery.

I'm always in disguise in one form or another in my plays.

We compound our suffering by victimizing each other.

Life is just a plain bloody mess, that's all. And people are fools.