Autumnal -- nothing to do with leaves. It is to do with a certain brownness at the edges of the day ... Brown is creeping up on us, take my word for it ... Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses... deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth -- reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light. At such times, perhaps, coincidentally, the leaves might fall, somewhere, by repute. Yesterday was blue, like smoke.

No matter how imperfect things are, if you've got a free press everything is correctable, and without it everything is concealable.

I really love being in postproduction. First of all, it's all quite self-interested: You can protect things.

It is better to be quotable than to be honest.

I write plays because writing dialogue is the only respectable way of contradicting yourself. I put a position, rebut it, refute the rebuttal, and rebut the refutation.

I began writing for theater, and maybe because of that I've always thought of myself as a theater writer who does work in film sometimes.

A man speaking sense to himself is no madder than a man speaking nonsense not to himself.