It was the only way to progress, to stop.

But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late!

No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.

To be an artist is to fail, as no other dare fail, that failure is his world and the shrink from desertion, art and craft, good housekeeping, living.

Was I asleep? Had I slept?

Be again, be again. (Pause.) All that old misery. (Pause.) Once wasn't enough for you.

The loss of my sight was a great fillip. If I could go deaf and dumb I think I might pant on to be a hundred.