It is time for me to chuck in the sponge. To retire from films and stage. The heart for it has gone out of me: it won't come back.

Not everyone can become a great artist; but a great artist *can* come from *anywhere*.

I wish to hazard my soul to opportunity.

It's very inconvenient because every time I finish, let's say, a chapter of a book, I think I'm going to ring Richard and then realize: Oh, Christ, I've buried him. I buried him last year.

If you do not surrender, I shall be forced to shoot you through the head with a rather large bullet.

Everyone praises Sachin Tendulkar. He may be a genius in his own right but in my book, Rahul Dravid is the artist. Dravid's defence tactics, his strokes, his cuts, his grace are truly amazing. I'd like to meet the chap sometime and take my hat off to him.

People're artists they're doing something, taking a hunk of chaps, giving it some order, some form, and presenting it saying here is my little song and dance, my chaos.