There never is any such thing as one truth to be found in dramatic art. There are many. These truths challenge each other, recoil from each other, reflect each other, ignore each other, tease each other, are blind to each other. Sometimes you feel you have the truth of a moment in your hand, then it slips through your fingers and is lost.

How can the unknown merit reverence? In other words how can you revere that of which you are ignorant? At the same time, it would be ridiculous to propose that what we know merits reverence. What we know merits any one of a number of things, but it stands to reason reverence isn't one of them. In other words, apart from the known and the unknown, what else is there?

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

I mean, if a thing works, if a thing is right, respect that, acknowledge it, respect it and hold to it.

Beckett had an unerring light on things, which I much appreciated.

When you lead a life of scholarship you can't be bothered with the humorous realities, you know, tits, that kind of thing.

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.