The past is what you remember, imagine you remember, convince yourself you remember, or pretend you remember.

The speech we hear is an indication of that which we don't hear. It is a necessary avoidance, a violent, sly, and anguished or mocking smoke screen which keeps the other in its true place. When true silence falls we are left with echo but are nearer nakedness. One way of looking at speech is to say that it is a constant stratagem to cover nakedness.

Occasionally it does hit me, the words on a page. And I still love doing that, as I have for the last 60 years.

Good writing excites me, and makes life worth living.

As a writer you're holding a dog. You let the dog run about. But you finally can pull him back. Finally, I'm in control. But the great excitement is to see what happens if you let the whole thing go. And the dog or the character really runs about, bites everyone in sight, jumps up trees, falls into lakes, gets wet, and you let that happen. That's the excitement of writing plays-to allow the thing to be free but still hold the final leash.

I ought not to speak about the dead because the dead are all over the place.

One's life has many compartments.