Oh god, I'd just hate it if a certain dramaturg got a hold of a Pinter play, for example, which are all mystery and all music. That's how the life get's sucked out of plays.

I wanted to be a Bride of Christ but I guess now I'm a young divorcee.

1975 is as much a historical document as 1803.

The rich live hand-to-mouth too-just on a higher level.

Like a dog, a playwright lives in an eternal present and a play is never closed.

Oh, I never use a seat belt. I don't believe in gravity.

Sometimes you have to protect the life of the play. It seems like spelling out mysterious, musical details can destroy a play by making the motivations too clear, too simplex.