Shaw Is Like A Train. One Just

I Have Just Made Out My Will And Given All The Things I Have And Many That I Haven't.

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 Cannot Let Well Enough Alone. I Get Restless. I Have To Be Doing Different Things.

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.