He'll be delivered from madness. What then? He'll feel himself acceptable! What then? Do you think feelings like his can be simply re-attached, like plasters? Stuck on to other objects we select? Look at him! ... My desire might be to make this boy an ardent husband - a caring citizen - a worshipper of abstract and unifying God. My achievement, however, is more likely to make a ghost!

Watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching, stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about. That's not love, it's just rubbish.

All I ever wanted was to sing to God. He gave me that longing and then made me mute.

My actual childhood, as opposed to my adolescence, was not spent in London.

Rehearsing a play is making the word flesh. Publishing a play is reversing the process.

If London is a watercolor, New York is an oil painting.

I speak for all mediocrities in the world. I am their champion. I am their patron saint.