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

I think people nowadays do tend to blame their parents for everything.

Figaro is a bad play. It stirs up hatred between the classes. In France, it has caused nothing but bitterness. My own dear sister,Antoinette, writes me that she is beginning to be frightened of her own people.

Everything we feel is made of Time. All the beauties of life are shaped by it.

You never quite know what's going to strike your imagination, or something that won't going to leave you alone, not going to leave alone, and this was one for me.

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

All reined up in old language and old assumptions, straining to jump clean-hoofed on to a whole new track of being I only suspect is there. I can't see it, because my educated, average head is being held at the wrong angle. I can't jump because the bit forbids it, and my own basic force - my horsepower, if you like - is too little.