Up there, up there in the vastness of space, in the void that is sky, up there is an enemy known as isolation. It sits there in the stars waiting, waiting with the patience of eons, forever waiting in the Twilight Zone.

People are put down in television now, not because they're not qualitative, not because they're not talented - but because there's no room for them, and worse than that, there's nowhere they can find exposure. Their own good talent may die of mourning, just for want of having somebody read what they've written. I don't presume to say how we can best provide platforms for new writers to get read. I don't know. But therein lies the major problem.

(on being born on Christmas Day, 1924) I was a Christmas present that was delivered unwrapped.

It may be said with a degree of assurance that not everything that meets the eye is as it appears.

I'd rather go along with this sense of illusion that I'm a neutral beast going along through life doing everything that's preordained.

I don't feel, God dictated that I should write.

I'm sufficiently independent to know that I can live well and comfortably all the rest of my life whether I'm rejected or not.