Very Few Women Wait For Mr. Right.

Women Age Early, And Their Mistake Is Not Knowing Where To Hide All The Time That Lies Behind Them So That No One Sees It. What Are They To Do, Devour It Like The Umbilical Cords Of Their Children? Hell And Damnation!

Anna Despises Two Classes Of People: First, Those Who Own Their Own Homes And Have Cars And Families, And Second, Everybody Else. Constantly She Is On The Verge Of Exploding. With Rage. A Pool Of Pure Red. The Pool Is Filled With Speechlessness That Talks Away At Her Nonstop.

Characters On Stage Should Be Flat, Like Clothes In A Fashion Show: What You Get Should Be No More Than What You See. Psychological Realism Is Repulsive, Because It Allows Us To Escape Unpalatable Reality By Taking Shelter In The “luxuriousness” Of Personality, Losing Ourselves In The Depth Of Individual Character. The Writer's Task Is To Block This Manoeuvre, To Chase Us Off To A Point From Which We Can View The Horror With A Dispassionate Eye.

Only He Who Loves And Is Loved For His Own Sake Can Be Happy, And What Produces That Happiness Is Not So Much The Sense Of Sexual Communion As Of Two People Being Together ... The Sexual Act Viewed As A Whole Probably Affords Less Happiness Than A Totally Ordinary Kiss Or Often Indeed One Simple Word From The One You Love.

Strictly Speaking, There Are No Holidays For Art; Art Pursues You Everywhere, And That's Just Fine With The Artist.