But I remember the morning after The Mask of Virtue-which is the first play I did at the West End-that some critics saw fit to be as foolish as to say that I was a great actress. And I thought, that was a foolish, wicked thing to say, because it put such an onus and such a responsibility onto me, which I simply wasn't able to carry. And it took me years to learn enough to live up to what they said-for those first notices. I find it so stupid. I remember the critic very well, and have never forgiven him.

When I come into the theatre I get a sense of security. I love an audience. I love people, and I act because I like trying to give pleasure to people.

I need something truly beautiful to look at in hotel rooms.

I realize that the memories I cherish most are not the first night successes, but of simple, everyday things: walking through our garden in the country after rain; sitting outside a cafe in Provence, drinking the vin de pays; staying at a little hotel in an English market town with Larry, in the early days after our marriage, when he was serving in the Fleet Air Arm, and I was touring Scotland, so that we had to make long treks to spend weekends together.

Every single night I'm nervous.

Streetcar is a most wonderful, wonderful play.

I'm a Scorpio, and Scorpios eat themselves out and burn themselves up like me.