It's so easy for propaganda to work, and dissent to be mocked.
I can't really articulate what I feel.
I never think of myself as wise. I think of myself as possessing a critical intelligence which I intend to allow to operate.
Beckett had an unerring light on things, which I much appreciated.
Apart from the known and the unknown, what else is there?
The Room I wrote in 1957, and I was really gratified to find that it stood up. I didn't have to change a word.