There is truth and falsehood in a comma.

I'm offended by things and take pathetic little stands against them.

I don't keep a diary and I throw away nearly all the paper I might have kept. I don't keep an archive. There's something worrying about my make-up that I try to leave no trace of myself apart from my plays.

Any revival in which I am involved is liable to change.

And for the last three minutes on the wind of a windless day I have heard the sound of drums and flute.

An artist is the magician put among men to gratify - capriciously - their urge for immortality.

My scripts are possibly too talkative.