Nothing is more sterile or lamentable than the man content to live within himself.

My second play, The Birthday Party, I wrote in 1958 - or 1957. It was totally destroyed by the critics of the day, who called it an absolute load of rubbish.

There are no hard distinctions between what is real and what is unreal, nor between what is true and what is false. A thing is not necessarily either true or false; it can be both true and false.

I hate brandy...it stinks of modern literature.

The weasel under the cocktail cabinet.

There is a movement to get an international criminal court in the world, voted for by hundreds of states-but with the noticeable absence of the United States of America.

Most of the press is in league with government, or with the status quo.