Before pop art, there was such a thing as bad taste. Now there's kitsch, schlock, camp, and porn.

I would never write in response to what I believe the public wanted or needed.

The excitement of theatre is palpable but the frustrations, and the complete absence of a definitive evening - the play as text means practically nothing in a way - , there's no particular performance that is definitive in the way a novel is a solid object you hold in your hands and here it is. You can't say that about a play. If the novel gives us a sense of throbbing consciousness, theater is pure soul, beautiful and elusive.

All human existence is a trick of light.

A novel determines its own size and shape and I've never tried to stretch an idea beyond the frame and structure it seemed to require.

Clouds are no deterrent. Clouds intensify the drama, trap and shape the light.

Ask yourself this question. Do we have to be humans forever? Consciousness is exhausted. Back now to inorganic matter. This is what we want. We want to be stones in a field.