If I am a prolific writer and turn my hand, with what seems to some as indecent haste, from novels to screenplays to stage and radio plays, it is because there is so much to be said, so few of us to say it, and time runs out.

As it has turned out, the whole relationship between men, women and children has tilted, to the disadvantage of women.

One can learn, at least. One can go on learning until the day one is cut off.

one tends to suspect others of what one is guilty of oneself. The unfaithful wife is quick to suspect the husband of infidelity.

Poverty is a stubborn thing: you seldom escape it with one bound.

Sound waves do not die out. They travel forever and forever. All our sentences are immortal. Our useless bleatings circle the universe for all eternity.

There is no real escape from autobiography into biography. The self has to be faced, or we die.