The Weasel Under The Cocktail Cabinet.

The Room I Wrote In 1957, And I Was Really Gratified To Find That It Stood Up. I Didn't Have To Change A Word.

I Think We Communicate Only Too Well, In Our Silence, In What Is Unsaid, And That What Takes Place Is A Continual Evasion, Desperate Rearguard Attempts To Keep Ourselves To Ourselves. Communication Is Too Alarming. To Enter Into Someone Else's Life Is Too Frightening. To Disclose To Others The Poverty Within Us Is Too Fearsome A Possibility.

There Never Is Any Such Thing As One Truth To Be Found In Dramatic Art. There Are Many. These Truths Challenge Each Other, Recoil From Each Other, Reflect Each Other, Ignore Each Other, Tease Each Other, Are Blind To Each Other. Sometimes You Feel You Have The Truth Of A Moment In Your Hand, Then It Slips Through Your Fingers And Is Lost.

The Theater's Much The Most Difficult Kind Of Writing For Me, The Most Naked Kind, You're So Entirely Restricted.... I Find Myself Stuck With These Characters Who Are Either Sitting Or Standing, And They've Either Got To Walk Out Of A Door, Or Come In Through A Door, And That's About All They Can Do.

I Would Never Use Obscene Language In The Office. Certainly Not. I Kept My Obscene Language For The Home, Where It Belongs.