To be able to write a play a man must be sensitive, imaginative, naive, gullible, passionate; he must be something of an imbecile, something of a poet, something of a liar, something of a damn fool.

To be able to write a play a man must be sensitive, imaginative, naive, gullible, passionate; he must be something of an imbecile, something of a poet, something of a liar, something of a damn fool.

That's the whole story of my life: frustration. It's a chronic disease, and it's incurable.

Tenterhooks are the upholstery of the anxious seat.

Poor, dear God. Playing Idiot's Delight. The game that never means anything, and never ends.

I remember when I was younger, there was a well-known writer who used to dart down the back way whenever saw me coming. I suppose he was in love with me and wasn't quite sure of himself. Well, c'est la vie!

He must be independent and brave, and sure of himself and of the importance of his work, because if he isn't he will never survive the scorching blasts of derision that will probably greet his first efforts.