to be understood is not a human right. Even to understand oneself is not a human right.

As we live our precarious lives on the brink of the void, constantly coming closer to a state of nonbeing, we are all too often aware of our fragitlity.

for most of us the space between 'dreaming on things to come' and 'it is too late, it is all over' is too tiny to enter.

We re all muddlers. The thing is to see is when one's got to stop muddling.

The theatre is certainly a place for learning about the brevity of human glory: oh all those wonderful glittering absolutely vanished pantomime! Now I shall abjure magic and become a hermit : put myself in a situation where I can honestly say that I have nothing else to do but to learn to be good.

The talk of lovers who have just declared their love is one of life's most sweet delights. Each vies with the other in humility, in amazement at being so valued. The past is searched for the first signs and each one is in haste to declare all that he is so that no part of his being escapes the hallowing touch.

It is not enough that I succeed, everyone else must fail.