Caryl Churchill is a writer of some note, but in the sack, she makes me explain everything.

When you consider all the writers who never even had a machine. Who would have given an eyeball for a good typewriter. Any typewriter. All the ones who wrote on a matchbook covers. Paper bags. Toilet paper. Who had their writing destroyed by their jailers. Who persisted beyond all odds.

My dad had a lot of bad luck. You could see his suffering, his terrible suffering, living a life that was disappointing and looking for another one.

I had a definite sense of somehow being a passenger in an evil vehicle crusing through Paradise.

I got to New York when I was eighteen. I was knocking around, trying to be an actor, writer, musician, whatever happened.

After the falling out with my father, I worked on a couple of ranches - thoroughbred layup farms, actually - out toward Chino, California. That was fine for a little while, but I wanted to get out completely, and twenty miles away wasnt far enough.

Love is the only disease that makes you feel better.