What The Eye Does Not

I Was An Accomplice In My Own Frustration.

It Is Very, Very Difficult For A Playwright To Write A Scene In Which A Young Man Has His First Deep Experience Of Sex With A Girl Whom He Found Immensely Attractive, Is Fully Satisfied By This Event And Gets Up And Blinds A Lot Of Horses.

Look... To Go Through Life And Call It Yours - Your Life - You First Have To Get Your Own Pain. Pain That's Unique To You. You Can't Just Dip Into The Common Bin And Say 'that's Enough!'.

Watching Italian Opera, All Those Male Sopranos Screeching, Stupid Fat Couples Rolling Their Eyes About. That's Not Love, It's Just Rubbish.

Worship Isn't Destructive, Martin. I Know That. I Don't. I Only Know It's The Core Of His Life. What Else Has He Got? He Can Hardly Read. He Knows No Physics Or Engineering To Make To World Real For Him. No Paintings To Show Him How Others Have Enjoyed It. No Music Except Television Jingles. No History Except Tales From A Desperate Mother. No Friends. Not One Kid To Give Him A Joke, Or Make Him Know Himself More Moderately. He's A Modern Citizen For Whom Society Doesn't Exist.