... half the world starves. What a planet. And the eating, if you're lucky enough to do any. Stuffing pieces of dead animals into a hole in your face. Then munch, munch, munch. If there's anybody watching, they must be dying of laughter.

Of course men play roles, but women play roles too, blanker ones. They have, in the play of life, fewer good lines.

There is no substitute for the comfort supplied by the utterly taken-for-granted relationship.

But fantasy kills imagination, pornography is death to art.

Love is the last and secret name of all the virtues.

That's how vile i am! I live Ireland, I breathe Ireland, and Christ how I loathe it, I wish I were a bloody Scot, that's how bloody awful it is being Irish!

All art deals with the absurd and aims at the simple. Good art speaks truth, indeed is truth, perhaps the only truth.