I Know Little Of Women. But I've

The Crimes Of The U.s. Throughout The World Have Been Systematic, Constant, Clinical, Remorseless, And Fully Documented But Nobody Talks About Them.

How Can The Unknown Merit Reverence? In Other Words How Can You Revere That Of Which You Are Ignorant? At The Same Time, It Would Be Ridiculous To Propose That What We Know Merits Reverence. What We Know Merits Any One Of A Number Of Things, But It Stands To Reason Reverence Isn't One Of Them. In Other Words, Apart From The Known And The Unknown, What Else Is There?

My Second Play, The Birthday Party, I Wrote In 1958 - Or 1957. It Was Totally Destroyed By The Critics Of The Day, Who Called It An Absolute Load Of Rubbish.

I Don't Write With Any Audience In Mind. I Just Write. I Take A Chance On The Audience. That's What I Did Originally, And I Think It's Worked--in The Sense That I Find There Is An Audience.

I No Longer Feel Banished From Myself.