I Don't Really Act. I Say The

I've Always Lived In The Same Way.

To Love Another Person You Have To Undertake Some Fragment Of Their Destiny.

You Fall Out Of Your Mother's Womb, You Crawl Across Open Country Under Fire, And Drop Into Your Grave.

The Poverty From Which I Have Suffered Could Be Diagnosed As 'soho' Poverty. It Comes From Having The Airs And Graces Of A Genius And No Talent.

When I Was Young, We Thought That Oscar Wilde Was A Great Nobleman Who Had Thrown His Life Away For Love. Nothing Could Be Less True. He Slept With East Enders Who Were Procured For Him By Lord Alfred Douglas. He Knew Them Only 'in Braille' - The Curtains Were Never Drawn Back In The Rooms In Oxford Where He Met Those Boys. It Was The Most Sordid Life You Can Imagine. And He Was Bleating About Love And Dragging The Fair Name Of Mr. Plato Into The Trial - After A Life Like That?