Within a year after I write a play I forget the experience of having written it. And I couldn't revise or rewrite it if I wanted to. Up until that point, I'm so involved with the experience of having written the play, and the nature of it, that I can't see what faults it might have. The only moment of clear objectivity that I can find is at the moment of critical heat - of self-critical heat when I'm actually writing.

When people don't like the way a play ends, they're likely to blame the play.

Each time I sit down and write a play I try to dismiss from my mind as much as I possibly can the implications of what I've done before, what I'm going to do, what other people think about my work, the failure or success of the previous play. I'm stuck with a new reality that I've got to create.

It's the function of a playwright to write. Some playwrights write a large number of plays, some write a small number.

Any definition which limits us is deplorable.

I imagine as an axiom you could say that the better the play, the less "creativity" the director need exert.

There is chaos behind the civility, of course.