I think I was probably wondering, having looked at human beings for a long time, wondering if evolution ever took place. And I still have my doubts.

You're alive only once, as far as we know, and what could be worse than getting to the end of your life and realizing you hadn't lived it?

There are only two things to write about: life and death.

There's always the danger that there are so damn many things that a playwright can examine in this society of ours - things that have less to do with his artistic work than have to do with the critical and aesthetic environment - that perhaps he does have to worry about whether or not he is writing too fast. But then also, perhaps he should worry about getting as many plays on as possible before the inevitable ax falls.

As a fairly objective judgment, I do think that my plays as they come out are better than most other things that are put on the same year. But that doesn't make them very good necessarily.

I am a Doctor. A.B... M.A... PH.D... ABMAPHID! Abmaphid has been variously described as a wasting disease of the frontal lobes, and as a wonder drug. It is actually both.

My sense of reality and logic is different from most people's.