It's not till sex has died out between a man and a woman that they can really love. And now I mean affection. Now I mean to be fond of (as one is fond of oneself) -to hope, to be disappointed, to live inside the other heart. When I look back on the pain of sex, the love like a wild fox so ready to bite, the antagonism that sits like a twin beside love, and contrast it with affection, so deeply unrepeatable, of two people who have lived a life together (and of whom one must die) it's the affection I find richer. It's that I would have again. Not all those doubtful rainbow colors.

One can lie, but truth is more interesting.

From birth to death we are alone.

if death becomes cheap it is the watcher, not the dying, who is poisoned.

The theatre is a gross art, built in sweeps and over-emphasis. Compromise is its second name.

The pleasure of one's effect on other people still exists in age - what's called making a hit. But the hit is much rarer and made of different stuff.

I am not a born writer, but I was born a writer.