By this time tomorrow we might have forgotten everything we ever knew. That’s a thought, isn’t it? We’d be right back where we started – improvising.
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Now for a handful of guilders I happen to have a private and uncut performance of the rape of the Sabine Women – or rather woman, or rather Alfred -Get your skirt on Alfred!
We do on stage the things that are supposed to happen off. Which is a kind of integrity, if you look on every exit being an entrance somewhere else.
All your life you live so close to the truth, it becomes a permanent blur in the corner of your eye, and when something nudges it into outline it is like being ambushed by a grotesque.
Rosencrantz: Shouldn’t we be doing something – constructive?
Guildenstern: What did you have in mind?…A short, blunt human pyramid?
A Chinaman of the T’ang Dynasty – and, by which definition, a philosopher – dreamed he was a butterfly, and from that moment he was never quite sure that he was not a butterfly dreaming it was a Chinese philosopher. Envy him; in his two-fold security.