I Ought Not To Speak About The

Clinton's Hands Remain Incredibly Clean, Don't They, And Tony Blair's Smile Remains As Wide As Ever. I View These Guises With Profound Contempt.

There Are No Hard Distinctions Between What Is Real And What Is Unreal, Nor Between What Is True And What Is False. A Thing Is Not Necessarily Either True Or False; It Can Be Both True And False.

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 Hate Brandy...it Stinks Of Modern Literature.

I'm Not Committed As A Writer, In The Usual Sense Of The Term, Either Religiously Or Politically. And I'm Not Conscious Of Any Particular Social Function. I Write Because I Want To Write. I Don't See Any Placards On Myself, And I Don't Carry Any Banners.