I Believe The Us Is A Truly

I Never Think Of Myself As Wise. I Think Of Myself As Possessing A Critical Intelligence Which I Intend To Allow To Operate.

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.

Do The Structures Of Language And The Structures Of Reality (by Which I Mean What Actually Happens) Move Along Parallel Lines? Does Reality Essentially Remain Outside Language, Separate, Obdurate, Alien, Not Susceptible To Description? Is An Accurate And Vital Correspondence Between What Is And Our Perception Of It Impossible? Or Is It That We Are Obliged To Use Language Only In Order To Obscure And Distort Reality -- To Distort What Happens -- Because We Fear It?

I Believe The Us Is A Truly Monstrous Force In The World, Now Off The Leash For Obvious Reasons.

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.