When One Controls Form, One

If A Man Writes A Brilliant Enough Play In Praise Of Something That Is Universally Loathed, The Play, If It Is Good And Well Enough Written, Should Not Be Knocked Down Because Of Its Approach To Its Subject.

I Am Not Interested In Living In A City Where There Isn't A Production By Samuel Beckett Running.

A Rather Ugly Thing Starts Happening: The Playwright Finds Himself Knocked Down For Works That Quite Often Are Just As Good Or Better Than The Works He's Been Praised For Previously. And A Lot Of Playwrights Become Confused By This And They Start Doing Imitations Of What They've Done Before, Or They Try To Do Something Entirely Different, In Which Case They Get Accused By The Same Critics Of Not Doing What They Used To Do So Well.

The Difference Between Critics And Audiences Is That One Is A Group Of Humans And One Is Not.

The Most Profound Indication Of Social Malignancy ... No Sense Of Humor. None Of The Monoliths Could Take A Joke.